Buried Coals
by Aranel Carnilino
Summary: Sequel to Fiercer Than Fire. After the reclaiming of Erebor, things were supposed to calm down. With the Dragon gone, Azog defeated, and the rebuilding process begun, it seemed inevitable that Thorin's coronation would usher in a new era of peace and prosperity. Billa should've known it wouldn't be that easy. Co-authored with Eleanor Damaschke.
1. Prologue

_A/N: As promised, the sequel to _Fiercer Than Fire_. :) We hope you've all had a wonderful past few months, and are refreshed and ready to withstand more BagginShield dramaticness. We've been having a great time plotting new torments for our characters- _adventures_, I mean. New adventures. ;) Quite frankly, after having to watch the entire line of Durin be annihilated in the fi__nal _Hobbit_ movie, we're very much in need of more drama and fluff. And certain people being _not_ dead. *nodnod* _

_Much love and cookies to you all. We hope you enjoy, and look forward to hearing from you in the reviews. _

* * *

><p><em>Prologue<em>

_There was new strength in his limbs, a deep awareness of the stone beneath his feet. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that there were at least 500 warriors before them, and thousands more waiting to take their place, should they fall. Even though the causeway was narrow, the stream clogged with bodies, the gate barricaded shut, in spite of all his preparations and caution, Erebor would fall._

_The halfling was still fighting. He could see her at the gate, hacking and slashing with her little sword, side by side with Dori and Bifur, defending the fallen body of Dwalin. His heart seized with pain, and he turned from the scene. The sounds of battle faded behind him, and he found himself in the Healer's Hall. Óin sported an ugly gash across his face, but was tending the others all the same. Balin, shuddering and coughing scarlet into his snowy beard, gnarled hands wrapped around the last of the orc arrows that had pierced him. Kíli, already lost to blessed unconsciousness, the stump of his arm bleeding through the bandages that concealed the lost limb. Bofur, his complexion more grey than tan, hands shaking as he forced a thick needle through the flesh of his own leg, pulling closed the ragged lips of the wound which still wept black icor. Fíli, who didn't appear to be breathing, propped up against the wall. Óin hadn't gotten to him yet. Most of his scalp was missing._

_If the orcs reached the Healer's Hall... no, _when_ they reached the Hall. There were too many. Already, he could see the atrocities they would wreak upon the wounded. Hacking, biting, tearing, ripping, burning. Little Ori, cradling her tiny newborn in the far corner - she would get the worst of it. She wasn't yet injured. They would take their pleasure of her, then... he shook his head. The tales that came out of orc-camps were terrible, and he didn't doubt the truth of them._

_"Thorin, we won't have much choice," murmured Óin. "The fighters at the gate will fall soon. We can't defend them forever."_

_He had made an oath to his sister - he would NOT let her sons fall to these monsters. There was no one left to defend them. He could only give them the last rest, the peace of death. And did he not owe the same to the rest of his Company? Would that he could have spared those at the gate, too._

_He drew his sword, and for once, Orcrist was heavy in his hand. It was as though the weapon knew that it was to drink the blood, not of enemies, but of dear friends and kin. A "mercy kill," they called it. It was merciful, he thought, only to those who died._

_Kíli was the first to feel the sharp blade, and his brother soon after. Their deaths were quiet, and he felt almost relieved to have it done. Balin was next, and though the old dwarf said he understood, there was fear in his eyes as he submitted to death. What waited for them on the other side? Better than what waited for them here, he hoped._

_Bofur was something more of a problem. He begged to be spared, delirious with pain. The king's hand shook as he ran the dwarf through, silencing him forever. Óin died quietly, grateful for the release. Only Ori was left. She and the tiny infant cowered before him, pleading, weeping._

_"Let me hide. Let me run away. Please. I'd rather face the orcs than die here. Please. Don't kill me. My son - spare my son."_

_Would that he were deaf to her cries. He lifted his sword, and suddenly, she was running away. Out, through the door, into the hall. He followed, calling for her to come back, but Ori either wouldn't listen or couldn't. Sobbing for breath, clutching the child to her bosom, she ran, fleeing straight into the tide of orcs that swept toward them. The babe was ripped from her arms, and he could hear her tortured screams-_

"Billa! Billa, wake up!"

She thrashed wildly, the blanket tangling around her body, binding her, choking her. The orcs! The orcs were coming, and it was her duty, she had to-

"Billa."

The halfling blinked, shaking and panting. In the half-light of the dim chamber, she could see Thorin's eyes gleaming at her, his aquiline nose, his short beard. No orcs. No Ori - and that had been ridiculous anyway. Ori didn't have a son. And besides, Dain would have defended the Mountain with his life. Where had he been, and his soldiers?

"Are you alright? You... you were screaming." Thorin sounded a little shaky himself. Billa forced a short laugh, but it sounded hysterical, so she gave up.

"Nightmare." She ran her hands over his arms, his neck, his face. He was alive. He was alright. "I was you. The Mountain was under attack. The orcs were going to... I couldn't let them. I had to..." She trailed off. She didn't want to remember.

"It was just a dream," he assured her, one hard arm wrapping around her waist. "You're alright. You're safe here."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"It never is." She felt his deep voice vibrating through her bones as he held her close, and relaxed slightly.

"If it was, then I can imagine a few things that would have turned out a little differently." Billa even managed a smile.

"But they didn't. Go back to sleep, Billa." She could tell he was relaxing again, and wished she could see well enough to know if he was smiling.

"I'll try." Maybe neither of them would sleep for a long time, but as long as he was there with her, then the night was friendlier. "Just don't leave me."

"I don't plan to. Ever."


	2. I - The Arrival - Billa

_A/N: Welcome back, all you wonderful readers! You guys are fabulous, and your feedback is, as always, much appreciated and tremendously enjoyed. Hope you enjoy this latest installment, and the changes we've made to style and POV._

_Taki-Sama101: I'm so glad you enjoyed the last one. Feel free to use what id__eas you like. :) _

_Moogsthewriter: Wow. That's a lot of reading in one day. *impressed* It's wonderful you're able to join us on our latest endeavor. *hands out cookies*_

_Tigersmeleth: As you wish. More coming right up. :)_

_Biddle29: You're back! *hugs* So glad you, Mr. Darcy, and Rhett Butler will be joining us again. *offers cake* _

_Marina Oakenshield: And you're back, as well! Yay! *throws confetti*_

_Wolveyaon: Yes. Yes, she is. *smiles*_

* * *

><p><em>One<em>

The gates were nearly complete. One of the massive bronze doors had already been replaced. The other was missing entirely, the metal being melted down and painstakingly reforged into the huge panels that would be pieced together once they'd been transported here. Thus, standing in the entrance hall, the nobles of Erebor were subject to a bitterly cold breeze.

_Why,_ Billa wanted desperately to ask, _i__s your sister insane enough to travel in the middle of winter, just to get her a few weeks early?_

Of course, if she had been the one receiving word from her miraculously triumphant, miraculously _living_ brother, then she probably would have set out the very next day, midwinter storm or no. But she didn't dare say anything of the sort. Dain and his most trusted officers stood about them, and Thorin stood beside her, clad in the deep blue velvet Dori had crafted for him - a new tunic, for this very occasion.

The halfling shifted slightly, letting out a soft huff of discomfort. It was cold, her knees ached, and breakfast had been hours ago. She was hungry. Not that any of that mattered, she reminded herself sternly.

_If I'm going to be a queen, I need to do it correctly._

A brassy horn call heralded the final approach of the travelers. At the head of the procession was a regal-looking female in sturdy skirts, at least, Billa _assumed_ she was a female. She'd never seen a male dwarf wearing skirts. But this female had a much thicker beard than Ori ever had. It was dark and short, like Thorin's. In fact, if it hadn't been for the slightly reddish tint to her facial hair, Lady Dís might have been her brother's twin.

"My king." The lady bowed deeply (because dwarves never curtsy, apparently).

"Princess Dís." Thorin took his sister's hand, smiling faintly. For someone seeing close family again after so many months and all that had happened in the interim, Billa thought him rather reserved in his greeting. But that was dwarven custom. If there was to be any emotional display, it would not happen here, before the eyes of Dain and his officers.

"You must be weary. Come, we will speak in the dining hall. The fires have been lit."

Dís' lips twitched slightly, and she nodded. Turning to her followers, she made a short gesture. It must have been an order of some kind, because several of her cohort moved forward then, depositing small chests and heavy bags at Thorin's feet.

After several more formal greetings, Dís and Thorin turned in unison and moved along the hall. Billa stayed at Thorin's left and concentrated on keeping up with them without breaking into a jog.

"You must tell me, Brother, of your journey. My son has told me but little." Her words caught Billa's attention and she stumbled slightly. Dís had seen Kíli? Had she brought him back? What about Tauriel? Had Dís... well, the possibilities were endless, as well as potentially unpleasant. The halfling kept her mouth shut for the time being.

"Much has happened, Sister." Thorin's tone was somewhat evasive. Billa knew he'd tell her as little as he could get away with. "Much that was unexpected, not all of it... unpleasant."

They entered the dining hall, greeted by soothing warmth and the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread. It was fortunate that news of the princess's coming had reached Erebor in time to give Bombur and his assistants a head start.

While still sparsely adorned, the hall was spacious and grand, the two hearths alive with golden flame, casting a cheery light upon the floor and walls. Repairs had been made in record time, all signs of Smaug erased. It would be some time, however, before the same could be said of the rest of Erebor, which had suffered far worse during the dragon's long stay.

Thorin guided the two females to a long wooden table near the more central hearth, and once all were seated, graced his sister with the genuine smile he'd denied her earlier.

"Sister, I must beg your pardon in not sooner introducing you to Miss Billa Baggins, a most estimable halfling from the Shire. She was the burglar Gandalf brought to my attention during his visit those long months ago, and it is her courage and loyalty we have to thank for all that has returned to our keeping." _And some things that have gone from it._

Billa could see the thought on his face, plain as day. And it had indeed been a happy day. The halfling smiled as she remembered it. Two important things had happened. Thorin had succeeded in throwing the Arkenstone into the Lake, thus proving himself free of its influence. Billa herself had failed (quite spectacularly) at throwing her Ring into the Lake as well. That event hadn't been so happy.

The halfling felt her face growing somewhat warm at the thought, and hoped it didn't show too much. Or, if it did, Dís thought nothing of it. As it was, the incomparable dwarrowdam was gazing intently at her, her eyes fixed upon the silver bead that hung by her ear. Billa realized the silence between them must have stretched longer than she'd thought.

"It's an honor to meet you at last. I've heard much about you."

"And I of you," Dís replied, somewhat coldly.

Bombur approached with a tray of hot stew, sliced, buttered bread, and a bottle of ale. He served them quietly, slowly, favoring his left side. His injuries had been grave, and were not fully healed, but he'd refused Óin's orders for bed rest.

While they ate, Billa enthusiastically, the others less so, Thorin provided a brief telling of the quest, emphasizing at all points his burglar's contributions and completely omitting the incident with the trolls. It was as though he were trying to justify his favor for the halfling to his sister, justify her place at his side from a completely practical standpoint. When he reached the part about Laketown, he hesitated, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

Billa had stopped eating, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. Anxiety thrilled through her. What was he going tell his sister? Surely not the details of the night.

Thorin cleared his throat. "In Laketown, we were given a grand feast, during which time... Billa and I..." His solemn façade fell away for an instant with an embarrassed smile, which he tried unsuccessfully to hide behind a hand. "It was determined Billa was my One."

Realizing that she'd been holding her breath, the halfling shoved the spoonful of stew into her mouth. Thorin's embarrassment was endearing in ways he'd probably never appreciate.

Dís had remained quiet and seemingly unmoved during his tale, but at that point, the dwarrowdam's austere expression melted into a faint smile. She took her brother's hand and pulled it away from his mouth. Her eyes were blue-grey, Billa noted. Like Fíli's.

"It's been too long since I've seen you smile, Brother. It's a welcome sight." She glanced at Billa, and the hobbit bowed her head diligently over her nearly-empty bowl. "I find it interesting, though, that in all this, your One offers no defense on her own behalf."

When she lifted her curly head, Billa frowned at Dís. "I didn't know I'd done anything that needed defending."

Thorin looked somewhat confused. "What do you mean, Sister? Explain yourself." Was it the incident with the Arkenstone? Had Kíli told her about it?

"Clearly, you feel the need to prove to me that she's worth my approval. You've spent the majority of your tale extolling her virtues, Brother. By your account, you would have failed your quest many times over without this halfling. Why then, does she not feel the same?" Dís lifted a braided eyebrow, her gaze shifting between Thorin and his chosen wife. Billa shivered slightly, but answered anyway.

"It's Thorin's choice, not yours. I don't have to defend his decision. I would, however, like to be your friend, if you'll let me."

Dís seemed to consider these words while Thorin made a show of sipping at his wine and keeping out of the discussion. Billa, he seemed to understand, would have to develop and define her own relationship with Dís, and no words of his would change that.

The dwarrowdam's reply came at last. "My friendship is earned, not granted for the asking." Dís wasn't completely immune to Thorin's pleading blue gaze, however, and her face seemed to soften. "But for my brother's sake, and the sake of my sons, you have my gratitude, and my respect."

The halfling nodded slightly, then sighed, lowering her gaze. What could she say that could possibly bridge the gap between them? They were of different worlds, and there was no Quest to bring them together, as had been the case with her friends in the Company.

"I... I don't know if I can ever earn your friendship. I'm not especially charming or talented. Thorin's biased, but Balin and Dori can tell you, I'm hopeless at most dwarven customs." She paused to give the dwarf king a helplessly fond look. "I was never cut out to be important. If I'm going to be what he wants me to be," she glanced at Dís and smiled tensely, "I'll need your help."

"You shall have it." Dís' answer came readily, and Thorin seemed to relax a little. "For the sake of Erebor, all must work together in the capacity best suited for them." She turned back to Thorin, as though the conversation with Billa was quite settled and done.

"Brother, tell on. I want to know, in particular, how it came about that you allowed my youngest to wed an elf."

Thorin seemed doubly discomfited, and had taken a sudden interest in his food, if only, Billa suspected, to allow him more time to think before he responded. "Your sons have come of age, and must be allowed to do as they choose," he said, staring intently into his stew. "Kíli did not ask my approval or blessing, and if I seemed to approve of the match, it was only because to do otherwise would have caused strife to no purpose."

"Ah." The indomitable female was staring at her brother, as though sincerely attempting to burn a hole in his skull with nothing but her eyes. "And... what do you anticipate you will do with the _product _of their union?" Her question was so pointed, it was a wonder it hadn't drawn blood. It took Billa a minute to understand her meaning, though. Thorin seemed to still be processing when she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"She's _pregnant_? I thought Elves... and Dwarves... I mean... _how?_"

Dís' expression was unforgiving, but her simmering frustration seemed rather to be directed to the world at large, rather than focused on Billa, for which the halfling was grateful. "I don't pretend to know the secrets of how such things work. I only know that the she-elf looked rather rounder than her folk tend to be." Dís gestured, somewhat indelicately, to indicate a considerable swell of the stomach.

Thorin shook his head slowly, looking as if he'd never even considered the possibility this might happen. "So... it would seem their union is not against nature, then."

A shade of relief trickled into his features, and he remembered Dís' question. "What do I propose to do? Nothing. The half-elf child is not my concern, but Kíli's. For my part, I would welcome your son and his family to my halls, when the time is right. He is not the only son of Durin who has chosen outside his own race."

Dís grunted softly, as though to say she would withhold judgement for the time being. Thereafter, the meal was practically peaceful. Billa nudged Thorin's foot under the table and mouthed a silent 'thank-you' to him. His only response was to roll his eyes. At least he was in a good humor. He even pushed his half-finished bowl of stew across to her place when Dís wasn't looking. He'd apparently seen her quietly scraping her bowl of the last morsels. Billa gave him a sheepish smile. It was likely one of the many effects of settling down again, not constantly traveling, fighting, and running for her life; her appetite had increased considerably, and she was well on her way to regaining the weight she'd lost during the Quest. She was beginning to feel like a proper Hobbit again.

"I noticed my elder son wasn't at the gate to greet me." Dís' voice broke the silence unexpectedly. "Where is Fíli?"

"In the healers' hall." Thorin indicated the general direction. "Ori was injured in a visit to the mines yesterday. Bofur found a new seam of gold, and she wanted to see it."

Dís' brow furrowed. "Ori? One of those in your Company? You took a dwarrowdam with you, Brother?"

Thorin finished his wine, looking rather as though he was beginning to need it. "Her brothers brought her along for safe keeping. We did not know she was a dwarrowdam until midway through the quest."

"In Mirkwood, actually," added Billa with a smile. "So it was more than midway through. Now that I think about it, she really just stayed on the outskirts of the Company before that."

Dís lifted her eyebrows slightly. "And after?"

"Well, after that, she and Fíli started getting pretty close." Billa found herself thoroughly enjoying the memories. "Nothing really happened until Laketown, though. Nori tried to beat him a few times. But after Smaug, things worked out." She knew she had a smug look on her face, but didn't particularly care to hide it. Among Hobbits, the skill of a matchmaker was highly prized, and she didn't at all regret pushing them together.

Dís seemed equal parts startled and upset. "And my son said nothing of this in his letter. Is there anything else he has been keeping from me?"

Thorin glanced forlornly at his empty mug. "Perhaps you should ask him yourself."

Dís stood, made a quick bow to Thorin, and strode quickly from the room, evidently to do just that. A beat of crackling silence.

Thorin sighed, slumping a little in his chair. "I think that went fairly well." There was, perhaps, a touch of irony in his tone.

After taking a moment to finish his stew, Billa set her spoon down and pushed herself out of her chair. When Thorin looked like that, chin lowered and hair hiding his face, she felt as though she might lose him again. A ridiculous fear, but one she acted on nonetheless. At least while he was sitting, she could do something about it.

His shoulders were hard with muscle and tense under her hand as she slid her arms around his neck. "Nothing she's worried about can't be mended quickly enough. You did really well, I think, especially considering she's a mother-in-law twice over now." She chuckled, trying to coax him into relaxing. "If my mother found out I'd gotten married and not told her, then I think she probably would have made me into a pie and served me to my husband." She poked his nose gently, pleased to see a twitch in the corner of his mouth, a slight crinkle to his eyes. Billa still treasured his smiles. They were rare, though not as rare as they had once been.

"Did you get enough to eat? The way you hand off your food to me, I'm starting to worry you'll starve yourself."

"No fear of that," Thorin assured her, visibly relaxing. Her touch, it seemed, was one of the few things that could so quickly put him at ease. "My sister seems hard and forthright, but she is kind at heart. She just needs time to adjust to all that has changed. Until then, I fear Fíli may get the worst of it."


	3. II - News - Dís

_A/N: Without further ado... chapter two! (Hey, that rhymed. *snerk*)_

* * *

><p><em>Two<em>

The corridor was long, dim, high-ceilinged and badly scarred. Dís found her gait slowing in spite of her intense desire to see (and confront) her elder son. The damage wreaked by Smaug since her last visit to this place was everywhere. Statues demolished, pillars toppled, arches broken. Deep gouges in wall and floor from talons larger and longer than she could have believed, had she not seen them arranged at Laketown's bridge. Claws and teeth only, of course. The rest of the huge carcass was stuck fast in the frozen mud of the bank, a lingering horror, even in death.

A rune carved over the doorway to her left marked the Healer's Hall, and Dís entered slowly, her steps now heavy. Almost two centuries since she'd seen this place, and then she'd been but a babe in arms.

"Mother?" Fíli's voice pulled her from her reverie, and though his startled face reminded her of why she'd come, she couldn't help the way her breath stopped in her lungs, and her heart stood still. Her little boy, so strong, so grown up. There was a faint pink scar along his cheekbone-it would fade with time, but Dís could imagine the weapon that might have put it there.

"My son," she whispered. It was a struggle not to take him in her arms and hold him to her heart until the Great Remaking of Arda at the End.

Movement in the cot beside her dwarrow attracted the lady's gaze, and she found herself looking on a scantily-bearded female, with a soft face and large, doleful brown eyes.

"And this, I presume, is the female your uncle spoke of?"

"I'm Ori," the slight dwarrowdam managed faintly, trembling a bit beneath Dís' scrutiny. Her arm was bandaged, and Óin had been in the process of changing the bandages on an angry red gash above her left eyebrow, but had moved deferentially away at Dís' approach.

"Mother, I..." Fíli paused, and Dís could see him gauging her reactions, watching her expression minutely. "I'm sorry. I meant to tell you in the letter..." His thumbs were hooked over his belt, his fingers tapping nervously at the metal plates riveted to the leather. "She's my One."

"So I see." Dís' gaze flicked up to her son's face, then down to his belt, and again to the female beside him. A heartless, calculating voice told her those eyes were weak. Ori was small, soft, and cowardly, frightened even by the presence of another dwarrowdam - her equal, by all rights.

_But it wasn't always that way. _She could be forgiven that, at least. Dís was aware her own presence could be intimidating. She had worked hard to cultivate it.

A gleam of silver in Ori's hair - a bead. Like Billa's it was only an engagement bead. None of them were properly married. Perhaps they had decided to wait until the kingdom was restored, or at least until Thorin had been officially crowned. That both pleased and irked her. Her eyes traveled up to meet Fíli's again.

"We have much to talk about. Now, I think, is not the time, nor is this the place. I will see you this evening, in private. I have news concerning your brother."

Fíli's eyes widened. "Is he alright? Did he... make it to Ered Luin?" A note of distress crept into his voice. His mind was clearly scrambling to all kinds of unpleasant conclusions and possibilities.

Ori reached out with her good arm and touched his hand, looking equally concerned.

The interaction between them, this little exchange of comforting glances, reminded her so powerfully of another time and place that Dís was nearly dizzy with it. She shook her head to clear it, and Fíli made a choking sound. Clearly, he'd misinterpreted the gesture.

"He arrived safely. Unharmed, even. More must wait until this evening."

Fíli was visibly relieved, and took Ori's hand, nodding at Dís. "Alright. I'll... see you tonight."

The dark-haired dwarrowdam turned away, hands clasped before her. When she reached the door, she stole one final glance at her son, wondering at how he'd changed. So serious. Like his brother, no more the laughing, joking, sparkling-eyed youngster. There was the grimness of one who had suffered, one who had had to face the painful reality of loss and death.

He had come of age, and as much as she'd once chided the brothers for their games and antics, now she found half her heart wishing their youth had not been stolen away from them so soon. They were still very young.

Dís walked slowly back the way she'd come, keeping her eyes on the toecaps of her boots as they flashed in and out of view under her skirts. This wasn't what she'd expected. She wasn't sure what she _had _expected, but that was normal. Still, both her sons and her brother had found the wives which would stay with them forever. She hoped. The halfling and the elf, no matter how loyal... were not Dwarves.

Deep in thought, the dwarrowdam's feet carried her unseeingly through halls and passages, around corners until, at length, she realized with a start that she hadn't even the faintest clue where she was. Dís glanced around at the doors that flanked her, up and down the corridor, but to no avail. She was alone.

She didn't remain so for long, though. The creaky shuffling of leather boots announced the approach of a dwarf moments before he rounded the corner, and he pulled up short before Dís.

"Oh. Your Highness." He bowed, slightly out of breath. His hair was solidly grey, but well-kept, implying that the color had changed rather early, as it hadn't yet taken on the grizzled appearance most older dwarves tended to have. "Glad to have found you." The meticulous dwarf rubbed his hands together, looking moderately excited. "If you'd like, I'll escort you to the guest chambers. All cleaned up and fit for a... well, a _princess_."

Dís nodded slightly, her hard gaze sweeping over him. She recognized his braids, and knew his accent to be pure Blue Mountains, but couldn't remember his name.

"I didn't know anyone was looking for me. My apologies for inconveniencing you." Offering him a slight bow, she indicated he should lead the way. "You are one of my brother's companions, yes? What can you tell me of the halfling?"

The dwarf seemed a little intimidated, but Dís was quite accustomed to that. "Billa? Oh, yes. She, uh... well. Billa has a tendency to surprise us. She's spirited, and clever. Resourceful. Made a few mistakes here and there, but no one's perfect. Without her, I dare say we'd have been lost many times over."

He tugged on the large metal band clamping his fastidiously braided and arranged beard, glancing nervously at the dwarrowdam as they proceeded down a side passage. "It's just a bit further this way, Your Highness. We've lit the fires, changed the linens, and," here he looked immensely pleased with himself, "brought several bolts of the finest silk so that Your Majesty might select what she prefers for her gown."

"Gown?" Dís frowned upon such needless extravagance, but decided to give him a chance to explain.

"For the Coronation, Majesty. I've already finished what the king is to wear, and I thought it would be fitting to see that all members of the royal family are dressed, erm... to match. Apologies for being a pest about it so soon after you've arrived, but the more time I have to work, the better the finished product will be."

"Ah." A look of satisfied comprehension crossed Dís' face. "I remember you. Dori, son of Tirg. Your father was skilled with fabric." The memories weren't the clearest, but from the way Dori's chest swelled, she was on the right track. "And your mother - a jewelry smith, if memory serves. You represent them well." The dwarf looked fit to burst with pride. She allowed him to bask in it for a while before speaking again.

"And my son's chosen One, she is... your sister?" Their braids were similar enough, and she noted Dori's nose was much the same shape as Ori's had been. Not to mention the names. Not hard to identify related Dwarves.

Dori hesitated. "Er, yes. Yes, she is. There were three of us who set out with the king. But Nori... we lost him in the Battle." He looked away sharply, clearing his throat. When he turned back, his expression was slightly strained. "Your son. Fíli. He's a good dwarf. I believe he will care for my sister as my brother and I once did." That, from an older brother, was high praise indeed.

A moment of understanding passed between them outside the door, and Dís' expression softened. "I recall Thorin said the same of my One, many years ago." The only girl, youngest of three, fiercely protected and unwillingly released. "You didn't let her fight." It wasn't a question. Middle child, wild brother, lost to battle, never to return. Dís felt the piercing ache of grief and turned her face away from her companion. So much had been lost. But she still had her sons and her brother. She was a daughter of Durin. She would survive.

"Show me your silks, son of Tirg, and we will discuss the Coronation."

* * *

><p>Dinner was quiet, formal. It differed from lunch only in that meat was added to the menu, and Fíli, Ori, and Dain were present. Thorin was reserved, but seemed to be in good spirits, and Billa's appetite, as ever, was hearty.<p>

Fíli rushed through his food and spent the rest of the meal staring expectantly at his mother while Ori, in turn, stared expectantly at _him_. No one seemed particularly eager to speak of more personal matters at the table.

Finally, Dís had finished, and Fíli seemed unable to wait any longer. He nudged her arm. "Mother," he said quietly, "what news of Kíli?"

Dain shifted a little at the end of the table, but his expression remained as inscrutable as before. He went on eating, apparently unconcerned.

"My request, Son, was for a _private_ meeting, if you recall." Dís' tone was chiding, but she could tell everyone at the table was listening intently. Even as Fíli and Ori looked breathlessly expectant, so did Billa, who was deftly pretending she wasn't just finishing her third helping of stew. "Kíli arrived safely in Ered Luin with his... fair companion. Any more that needs said can be said in private."

Fíli nodded, looking a bit embarrassed. "Of course. I'm sorry, Mother. I'd forgotten." He turned away.

The table descended into complete silence, no longer broken by the quiet murmurs of conversation between Billa, Dís, and Thorin.

A slight movement attracted her attention. Ori's arm moved a bit, her hand under the table. She could assume that the younger female was taking her son's hand, trying to soothe him. The poor young thing didn't seem to know what to do. Reassurance of Kíli's safety hadn't been enough to allay his fears. Clearly; Dís would not have "news" unless something was amiss. She would not desire to speak with him in private unless that "something" were particularly troubling.

All these thoughts were as plain as day on the blond's face, and his mother sighed quietly. Not that it wasn't good for him to learn a little patience, and not that it wasn't entertaining to watch him learn the lesson the hard way, but she didn't like to see him so upset. Fíli cared too deeply about his brother, and had obviously not quite let him go yet.

When, at length, supper had finished and wine and tea had been cleared away, Dís nodded slightly to Fíli and Ori. While it would have been nice to have Thorin along, it wouldn't be meet to invite the entire party and exclude Dain. Their iron-willed cousin would have to wait until she was more sure of what Fíli had meant when he'd written that Dain and Kíli "weren't beating the same metal." Obviously the two wouldn't agree, but had it been merely his choice of lifemate, or something else?

"Will you have time to talk tomorrow?" The question almost didn't catch Dís' attention, but the dwarrowdam glanced down at the halfling when Billa caught her sleeve gently.

"If I have time, I will find you," Dís agreed diplomatically. It would be good to get to know her new sister, even if she didn't like the halfling very much. "Son, come. We have much to speak of."

Fíli was standing by the door, and when Ori made to shuffle away, Dís shook her head slightly. "You may come also, Daughter. Some of what will be said concerns you."

Ori perked up a little, clearly pleased to have found some measure of approval in her soon-to-be mother-in-law's eyes. When the three had returned to the guest chambers, Dís closed the door and paced across the room to the hearth. She remembered the chill of Erebor's stone corridors in winter from her youth; it was something that took some getting used to.

Fíli seated himself on a stone ledge near the fire. "So Kee's alright... but something's happened. What's going on, Mam?"

"You brother's fair friend is... rather more fertile than was suspected." Dís gave her son a faint, somewhat strained smile. "When they arrived in Ered Luin three months ago, the elf was a little rounder than Elves usually are. When we parted some weeks ago, her condition was well on its way to being rather compromising. My party are all aware, and have been sworn to silence."

Fíli looked stunned. His mouth twitched open, then shut again. When he did finally speak, his voice was quiet, incredulous. "Tauriel...? I don't believe it. How could he-? But that's... that's impossible. Isn't it?"

"Clearly, it isn't impossible. Unless, of course, she's been having an affair with one of her elven friends." Dís looked grim. She didn't trust Tauriel, even if she'd found the she-elf to be good company.

Fíli looked uncertain. "I... I wouldn't think her the type, to be honest. She's been so uncompromisingly loyal. To Thorin, to Kíli. It's hard to imagine her... well."

"She'd never do that," said Ori, and the confidence with which she spoke was surprising, considering her timidity. "She loves Kíli too much to do something like that to him. He trusts her, and so do I. I owe her my life."

Dís sighed. "Yes, Kíli told me as much. And he mentioned that my brother owes his life to the elf as well." She knew her tone was disgruntled, and she had no business being so distrustful, but... "Wood Elves aren't exactly well-known for their dependability. As I recall, they have a habit of disappearing when they're needed, and appearing when they're not invited." Rubbing her temples, she sat down, her heavy skirts settling around her legs. "They decided to stay in Rivendell until the child is born. Travel was becoming understandably inconvenient for the elf when we left them, and the atmosphere in the Mountain was, as I understand it, less than welcoming."

Ori smiled, looking sincerely hopeful at this news. "Rivendell is a good place. We might even be able to go visit..." She trailed off under Dís' sharp gaze. Visiting the Last Homely House hadn't been on the agenda.

"Dain," said Fíli, apparently trying to change the subject. "He's made no secret of his dislike for Kíli's match. Kíli thought it best for them to leave, at least until after the Coronation. They're being cautious, I guess. But Dain's not been a problem. Not since the duel..."

Ori looked troubled. "Dwalin's _still_ not fully healed. He makes nothing of it, but everyone can see his shoulder still gives him grief."

"Duel?" Dís sat up straighter, tension coiling up her spine. "What duel?" Did no one see fit to tell her _anything_ of importance?

Fíli winced. "I didn't think you needed to... all in one letter..." He trailed off, seeming to have difficulty swallowing as he leaned away from his mother's intense gaze. "Dain challenged Kíli to a duel when he announced that Tauriel was his One."

Dís swore she felt the blood leave her face. "He challenged... when?"

"After the Battle." Ori's tone was meek.

"How soon?"

"A couple days," admitted Fíli reluctantly. Dís was outraged. She stood, all but ready to return the favor immediately, but her son caught her arm.

"Dwalin claimed the Right of Substitution. The duel's been fought, it's done. Dwalin won, and we haven't had any trouble from Dain since then."

Dís turned from thoughts of immediate action, but her rage remained. "He would challenge _my son_, days after such a great battle, on a point that did not concern him in the slightest? What respect I had for Dain is gone. He will come to regret this."

Fíli shook his head. "Please, Mam. Don't dredge it up again. It's settled. Really. Dain's renounced his grievance, and we're moving on."

Dís stood very still as she processed this information, weighed her options. Fíli looked agitated, and Ori seemed practically terrified. It must have been bad, this vendetta of Dain's against her son. But they said it was done. Finished. Settled.

Inhaling deeply, the dwarrowdam sought to cool her anger. At best, she could dampen it. If Dain proved himself, perhaps she would forgive him.

"I will speak with him privately, when I have the chance," she said at length, and saw Fíli twitch.

"Mam, you don't need to-"

"I will decide what needs to," she informed him softly, and felt his hands loosen their hold on her arm. He remembered the tone well, and for this, she was grateful. On this subject, she didn't want to be opposed. Least of all by Fíli, who ought to have been as angry as she was.

The young dwarf lowered his golden head deferentially, as was proper. She would teach him to fear no one, especially jumped up cousins who had no right to challenge _her_ son. No matter how stupid his choices were.

"You must be tired, Mam," Fíli said finally, looking rather tired himself. "Ori and I will leave you to rest." He took the ruddy-haired female's arm, moving toward the door.

Dís felt a twinge of guilt, but knew it had nothing to do with Dain.

"Fíli. Son." He paused, turning to look at her. His expression was apprehensive, and she regretted having put that look in his eyes. He would learn. She would teach him. Until then, she would protect him. "I _am _proud of you."

Fíli's stern countenance lightened, his mouth twitching into a brief smile. It was clear these words were precious to him.

Then he was gone. He and the young female who would soon be the most important woman in his life. Dís sighed, pacing to the bed and sitting. Her sons would be alright. She knew that. Still, that didn't make the process of letting them go any easier.


	4. III - Tangled Lives - Thorin

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, guys. Was having a bit of an extended New Year's vacation with some friends of mine (one of them being the most esteemed Eleanor Damashke, coauthor extraordinaire). We had a _Hobbit/LotR_ marathon in which we successfully viewed all six films more or less back to back - with more substantial breaks between the _Rings_ films, due to their lengthier nature. What an experience. Highly recommended._

_Thanks to all of you who have reviewed. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. And, since the plot from here on out is original, if any of you guys have anything in particular you'd like to see in subsequent chapters, let us know and we'll see what we can do. We have quite exciting (and maybe a bit traumatic) things planned, but we like suggestions, too. We write these stories for the readers, so we want you to know you're quite welcome to provide any and all input._

_Marina Oakenshield: Glad you think so. :)_

_Just4Me: You're back! Cupcakes all around! Love the character of Dís. So like Thorin in many ways, and it's very amusing to me that he's almost intimidated by her._

_Taki-Sama101: Thank-you. :)_

_Biddle29: *hugs* I always look forward to your reviews. They make my day. Glad Rhett and Mr. Darcy are back. Did they bring you any souvenirs? :) As for Billa and_ _Dís, I'd imagine they'll develop some sort of friendship down the line, but it may take time (and only Eleanor and I know what else... muhahahahaha). So what I imagine for Thorin disposing of the Arkenstone is this: You know in the BotFA movie where he throws what looks like a ruby up to Fili in the treasure hoard? Yeah. A magnificent throw like that, casting the accursed stone out into the cold lake, the setting sun glowing on the mountain peaks and burning bluish-orange on the water. The Arkenstone disappears with an underwhelming 'plop' and that's that. Hopefully it'll get caught in the sludge at the bottom of the lake and never be seen again. (Unless some hapless fisherman happened to snare it in a net and be all, "hey, look what I found!" Dun dun DUNNNN...) _

_Three_

Thorin moved slowly down the hall, studying the papers in his hands with a furrowed brow. If Billa could see him, she'd probably have said he looked "grumpy," but that was just the halfling being herself. At the moment, she was three levels above and sleeping peacefully. Midday naps did her a lot of good.

Dragging his thoughts back to the new mine, he focused again on the parchment between his fingers. Figures and names and dates and estimates. His mind started to wander again as his ribs twinged. His wounds weren't completely healed, but he was at least more functional than Dwalin or Bombur (neither of whom would admit it). And it was thanks to an Elf. The thought never ceased to amaze him.

The rumble of voices caught his ear, and Thorin stopped mid-stride to listen. When he identified Dís' voice, his frown deepened. What was his sister doing down here? Following the sound down a side passage and past a large heap of rubble, he located the source - in a small antechamber, the door of which was still intact, there were the sounds of a muted conversation.

"It was an insult," Dís was saying indignantly. "But I'm willing to forgive it if you swear on your father's sealed tomb that you'll never harm either of them."

A sigh. "Princess, you know I would never do anything to harm our kin unless it was absolutely necessary. My grievance was legitimate, and has been legitimately settled. What more need be said?" Dain's voice was calm and cordial, his cadence unhurried. If Dís' manner was threatening, he didn't seem intimidated.

"I would like to believe you, Cousin, but your grievance was not legitimate. It doesn't concern you who he chooses to be his wife." Dís didn't sound convinced. "If you feel justified challenging him over such a thing, I don't know I can trust you not to do it again. I want your oath. Now. Here."

Thorin edged a little closer, tipping his head toward the door. Apprehension started to creep in slowly, infecting his thoughts. His sister meant well, but what sort of trouble could this stir up?

There was a long, tense silence. "Very well. You have my word and oath, Princess. I swear on the tomb of my father, Nain, I will do your sons no harm."

Thorin had no reason to doubt Dain's sincerity; no hint of guile or deception was evident in his voice, and the dwarf king had seen nothing but loyal service and sound guidance from him since the day of the duel.

"You know I am an honorable dwarf," Dain went on when no response came from Dís. "I keep the oaths I make. Rest at ease, and let that be the end of it."

After a long minute, Dís answered, and when she did, it was in a much softer tone, and with the rustling of skirts, as though she were moving. Closer, or further away, though? "This, I can believe. This, I trust, that you will uphold the traditions of our fathers, and that you will hold to your oath." There was another pause, and a quiet sigh. "Forgive me my... earnestness, Cousin. I didn't think-" and here, Dís' voice took on a slightly thick, shaky quality, that if he'd been looking at her, Thorin might have missed. "I dared not hope... that I would see them again. I thought, when they left, that was the end. My sons, my brother. To have them restored to me is a blessing I will never deserve. I don't want to lose them again. I can't be alone again."

The faintest whisper of flesh on flesh alerted Thorin to the fact that they were now holding hands. In what manner, or who had initiated it, he didn't know, but an anxious buzz thrilled along his nerves. What was going on?

"You don't have to be alone." Dain's voice, too, was softer. Gentler.

"You know not what you say." From her tone, Dís was trying to regain control, but hadn't yet succeeded.

"I do know," Dain assured her.

"My One is dead, Cousin." From the rustle of fabric, Thorin assumed Dís had pulled away. "You are not him. You never will be."

Another pause, and Dain exhaled heavily. "It was but an offer, Princess. Perhaps I've been too forward, but it has been made nonetheless, and I'll not withdraw it."

"I will... not forget it." It was terribly generous of her not to take offense, thought Thorin. If he were with them, he would have told Dain he was overstepping. Dangerously so.

Then the dwarf realized that the rustling hadn't faded, that boots were falling with new rhythm. They were moving toward the door - toward him. There was nothing for it but to stand his ground. Certainly, beating a hasty retreat down the hall sounded appealing, but there was no way he wouldn't get caught. So he folded his arms and arranged his features into a scowl, just as the door opened with a squeal.

Dís froze. She had been walking in front. Behind her, the grizzled, greying hair of Dain stuck up stubbornly in thin wisps, despite the apparent neatness of his dress and braids.

"Brother." Dís' eyes narrowed dangerously. "How much did you hear?"

Thorin's features tightened. Was Dís embarrassed? "I heard enough."

"My King." Dain spoke up, putting a hand out as though trying to halt the direction the conversation was going. "The Princess and I were merely... coming to an understanding. It is nothing worthy of Your Highness's concern."

Thorin's tone was cold, his eyes smoldering faintly. "Do not presume to know what is or isn't worthy of my concern. I am most definitely concerned in the matter of my sister's honor."

A strange expression flickered across Dain's face, and was gone again too quickly to read. Embarrassment? Anxiety?

"I was unaware, my lord, that anything I had said would be a threat on your sister's honor. I meant only-"

"I can defend my own honor, Brother." Dís' tone was hard, but she wasn't looking at him. Perhaps she was embarrassed. "His offer was made without thought. It is forgiven."

"Without thought?" Thorin shook his head. "Since when has_ Dain Ironfoot_ done aught without consideration? Do you think him apt to make such a proposal lightly, on a whim?"

It deeply angered him, her dismissal of the offense. Dain scarcely knew her. What could he possibly mean by it?

"Perhaps it pleases me that he would think the offer worth extending." Dís was being foolish, stubborn, and contrary. Thorin clenched his jaw and prepared to say precisely what was on his mind when Dís bowed her head.

"Forgive me, Brother. It was... unexpected. I will defer to your judgment."

Dain was quiet as the siblings spoke. Contrite? Possibly. He didn't withdraw his offer, though.

Thorin glanced at him, as though half expecting him to say something. When Dain remained silent, he began to wonder if he _was_ blowing things out of proportion.

"We will not speak of this again." Thorin offered an arm to his sister and escorted her down the corridor. Dain stayed behind, head lowered, evidently in shame.

When the two were decidedly out of hearing range, Thorin sighed, and with the release of breath went some of the tension in his body.

"You initiated this... meeting with him, Sister?"

Dís nodded slightly, her eyes downcast. At his urging, she recounted her anger the previous night at the duel she hadn't been informed of, and how she wanted to ensure such a thing didn't happen again. It was amazing how his sister, now nearly two centuries old, could still look and sound so much like a chastised dwarrow. Then again, she had been a long time alone. Her husband had died many decades ago, and it couldn't have been unpleasant for her to discover that she was still desirable.

"And are you considering his suit?"

The dwarrowdam gave him a very strange look. "My sons would never forgive me. I can't consider such a thing right now."

"But... if your sons were not your first consideration...?" The question surprised even Thorin. What did it matter if she might've chosen Dain in some other world where Fíli and Kíli's preferences did not affect her decision-making?

"I would consider it," she admitted, and there seemed to be some reluctance in her tone. A short pause hovered between them a moment. "He's not the only one that's offered, you know." Thorin felt the words like a punch to the gut. Had things changed so much since he left on the Quest? Or had there been others, and she'd just not told him?

They reached the guest chambers, and paused before the door.

"You're lonely, Sister. You have been for a long while." Thorin took Dís' hand. It was only marginally smaller than his, but more delicate. She was a better craftsman than he, and such beauty came from her fingers, he had marveled in his youth, and for a time, been jealous.

Víli had been a good husband, but so unlike his stern, sensible wife. Blond, bright-eyed, quick to laugh, Fíli was the spitting image of him, though his personality had been more akin to his younger son's.

Thorin had been the one to break the news to his sister that cold, hateful day some 70 years ago. He hadn't had to say a word. The heavily pregnant Dís had fallen into his arms, and he'd stayed with her through the night. Little Fíli, who'd only just begun walking, had sat by his mother, too, watching her intently, the firelight dancing sadly in his eyes. He couldn't have been old enough to understand, and yet... he did.

Dís' voice pulled Thorin back to the present. "I have you. And my sons. I am content, Brother. The loneliness returns at night only, and that... I can bear."

He nodded, but he didn't necessarily agree or believe her. Perhaps, he thought, it would be good for her to have a companion. One she could trust. Even if she would never find another love like what she shared with Víli... but wouldn't it only hurt all the more? If Billa died, no matter how lonely he was, would he ever be happy with another woman? However kind and smart and forgiving she was - she would never be his Billa.

"I'll see you at supper, I suppose?" There was nothing else to be said. Not right now.

The conversation had renewed his gratitude for the good fortune he'd experienced, and he decided he'd check in on Billa to make sure she was alright. She'd been a lot more tired lately, it seemed, than usual. Or perhaps that was just a hobbit thing, and she was returning to her normal schedule?

Softly, he entered the chamber they were currently sharing. The queen's chamber was still being cleaned, repaired, and furnished, so Billa was staying with Thorin for the time being.

The decor was spare, but nice, thanks to Dori, functional, but easy on the eyes. The bed had been hand-carved from cedar planks, harvested along with a great many of the other timbers needed for Erebor's rebuilding some months past, as were the two chairs before the hearth, and the various benches and tables. The fresh scent infused the air, driving away the staleness that had seemed so overpowering at first in the rooms longest sealed.

Billa seemed little more than a lump beneath a mountain of blankets. She _did_ tend to get cold far more easily than he did, especially here, on the upper levels. Her feet were always icy when he finally climbed into bed, but sharing his body heat was a small price to pay for having her safe in his arms.

Thorin moved softly across the room, though perhaps not as softly as he'd thought.

"Everything alright?" Billa spoke through a yawn, stretching her arms over her head. She looked well, her cheeks slightly flushed, the wrinkled print of a pillowcase on one side.

Thorin nodded. "I was just... looking in on you."

A smile spread over her round face, and he noticed again how her left cheek had a dimple, but the right one didn't. It was amazing, how much he was still learning about even the way she looked.

"I guess that makes me special, then." Billa pushed the blankets back and scooted toward the edge, clearly intending to get out of bed to join him. In that moment, Thorin made a decision, and like most of his decisions concerning his most precious hobbit, it was selfish. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled her into his lap, smiling slightly when she squeaked in surprise.

"Very special," he confirmed softly. She fit perfectly against him, her soft little body radiating comfortable heat as she pressed herself against his chest.

She'd changed his life so profoundly; he couldn't even imagine it without her in it. Couldn't imagine being king without her beside him. He kissed the top of her head through her thick, soft ringlets, inhaling the clean, earthy scent she seemed to carry with her constantly.

"What's gotten into you all of a sudden?" Billa sounded surprised.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not usually this... affectionate, so early in the day."

Thorin huffed a quiet laugh. "Stop trying to predict me."

"Not my fault you're so predictable," she teased, and pushed her head fondly under his chin. "You mentioned something about a mine when you left earlier. Did you find anything interesting?"

Thorin felt a bit guilty when he remembered that he hadn't actually gotten down to the new mine. Dís had completely distracted him.

"Something else came up. Besides, you're more important than a hole in the ground." The halfling started to quake with laughter, and he smiled.

"Oh, you." Billa gave him a hug and slipped out of his lap. "My inner clock says it's breakfast time."

"I believe it's closer to the midday meal." Billa made a face that said Thorin's comment wasn't helpful, then gestured for him to turn so she could dress. It didn't take long for her to 'make herself presentable' and steer him out of their room and toward the nearest source of food.

"So... what 'came up'?" the hobbit asked curiously, looking up at him.

Thorin's lips tightened, and for a rather lengthy moment, he was silent. "Dís. A misunderstanding." He looked rather uncomfortable. "With Dain."

"Oh dear." Billa glanced up at him, her expression echoing his. Discomfort, concern, and a tiniest flicker of anger. "They didn't get into a fight, did they?"

"A fight?" Thorin seemed half amused by the thought. A fight between Dain and his sister would be truly terrifying. "No. Not a fight."

He briefly relayed the contents of the conversation he'd overheard, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "As I said," he concluded softly as they entered the dining hall. "A misunderstanding, and I hope, no more than that."

The halfling nodded slowly, and said no more as they sat and were served. It was indeed a lunch, though perhaps a little on the late side. The dining hall was nearly empty, and when the assistant cook shuffled off, leaving the royal couple to eat, Billa spoke very quietly, leaning toward him that they might not be overheard.

"Dain is a stiff old poker, but I can't imagine that he'd have made such an offer in anything but absolute seriousness. A confusticating problem, but easily enough fixed, if Dís isn't inclined to marry him."

"I just don't understand _why_."

"Why she doesn't want to marry him?"

Thorin shook his head. "No. Why he would make such an offer. Was it out of pity? Desire for companionship?" He lowered his voice considerably. Even with the fires' lusty crackling and the marked emptiness of the hall, it didn't feel right discussing such things in normal tones. "Does he imagine she might yet give him children?"

It wasn't out of the question, though the thought troubled Thorin greatly, for reasons he couldn't readily determine. Dís wasn't past the age yet. At least, he didn't think so. But Dain didn't require an heir; his wife - now long-departed - had taken care of that. Even now, his eldest son was managing the Iron Hills.

Perhaps it was hardest to comprehend because Dain was as practical a dwarf as ever there had been, each of his actions carefully measured, weighed, and calculated. Affection was not a sentiment he allowed himself; that he should have changed in that regard didn't seem likely to Thorin.

"It's possible he's lonely, just like Dís is, and found the arrangement... convenient." Billa's voice brought his attention back to the present, though he was a little puzzled by her tone. Was that distaste? Thorin glanced down at her and realized that almost half of her food was already gone. He'd not even started on his.

But then, he wasn't very hungry anyway. Funny how such disturbances so greatly affected the appetite.

"Perhaps." Thorin's reply was somewhat detached.

"Eat. You're making me look like a pig." Billa snatched up his spoon and pressed it into his fingers. Thorin took a pitiful bite and made a show of chewing.

"I've been thinking about the guest list for the Coronation," Billa announced after a minute of silence. "We have Lord Elrond down. And Beorn's kin."

"They won't come." Thorin's answer was decisive.

"Probably not," Billa admitted, "but it would seem a shame not to at least invite them. After all, we are so very grateful to them. I was thinking..." The hobbit hesitated, suddenly anxious. "What if we invited... Thranduil?"

Thorin choked on what remained of his obligatory mouthful of potato and gravy. "_What_?" Billa hastened to explain, making preemptive gestures to stall his arguments.

"If it hadn't been for his actions, we'd have lost Lord Elrond and probably Tauriel, too, not to mention the tide of the Battle would have been much changed - he'll probably turn it down anyway. It just seems... well, it would be impolite not to at least write the invitation."

Thorin dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, looking slightly incredulous. "You would have _Thranduil_ within these walls? As an honored guest? What he did he did not do for my sake, or Erebor's, or that of any of its people. He saved his fellow elves. He secured his 'proper' share of the treasure. That was what concerned him."

He dropped the napkin, crumpling it beneath his hand. "It is possible for our two kingdoms to coexist without me being obligated to invite him to every celebration and social function. He will not feel snubbed."

"Thorin." Billa fixed him with a look that was very nearly pleading. "I asked him to come, asked for his aid when I thought you would die without it. He came. He mustered his kingdom, down to the last trainee, and marched through the night at my request." She paused, seeming rather more distraught than Thorin thought the situation warranted. "If not to the coronation, might I at least invite him to the wedding?"

Through the haze of stifled outrage and confusion, the dwarf noticed that Billa's words had become a bit more formal, as though she were trying hard to 'do things right' again. Thranduil, in his Mountain? The Oathbreaker, at his table? Honored, as a guest of the King Under the Mountain? The idea filled him with loathing, despite the relative peace (and complete noninteraction) that had reigned between the two kingdoms since the Battle had concluded. Thranduil, watching him accept the crown and swear to uphold his kingdom, was a mental image that was frustratingly distracting, to say the least. The thought of the Elvenking at his _wedding_- it make him slightly sick.

"Billa… weddings are… _private_. I will not, under any circumstances, have an _elf_ present for my unity vows." Thorin managed to keep his voice relatively calm, but the words sounded a bit strangled. The hobbit regarded him apologetically, seeming genuinely contrite for having upset him.

"Then… you won't mind if I invite him to the coronation?"

It was almost tempting to deny her. He could see what she was doing. She was making him choose between inviting the stupid, tiara-wearing elf to his coronation, or inviting him to his wedding. Neither appealed, but he had to admit that at least his coronation would contain no proclamations of love or other such embarrassing matters.

"Fine. Do what you wish, but I'll have no part in it." Thorin turned away to stare down at his plate. The food didn't even smell good anymore. Two small hands wrapped around his upper arm and he felt Billa nuzzling him gently.

"You won't even have to see it. Thank you, Thorin."

* * *

><p>It was several days later when he and Billa were again faced with the Coronation. At some point, it had taken on a life of its own, and now seemed to consume every aspect of life. The reality of it was becoming increasingly inescapable, cropping up in conversations and task lists more and more frequently. Today had been nothing but preparations, and now the two of them stood side by side in Billa's newly-cleaned and furnished chambers, faced with a frowning, grey-haired dwarf. Dori passed a slightly disdainful glance over Billa's midriff and shook his head.<p>

"Have to make some quick adjustments," he muttered, rushing out with her dress in tow.

Billa glanced at Thorin and made a face. "He didn't have to be so displeased."

The dwarf couldn't help but chuckle at her indignant expression. She had been nothing but proud of her recent weight-gain, and Dori's reaction seemed to have put her out of countenance.

"He doesn't understand, that's all."

"You bet he doesn't. I'm an excellent size for a hobbit. Perfectly respectable."

Thorin sought an appropriate response. It was tricky, sparing feminine (and Hobbity) pride. "Very respectable, indeed." That seemed a decently innocuous reply.

Dori returned about an hour later, the gown suitably altered. "I let the waist out about an inch," he said. "That's the most I can do without completely remaking it. Try it on. We'll hope for the best."

The halfling looked a touch smug as she obediently tried on the garment. Dori, however, let out a despairing sound when he saw the waist of the gown was still a little too tight.

"Is this really necessary?" The grey-haired dwarf looked rather frazzled, raking his fingers through his hair and completely disarranging his braids. "I'm only half done with Lady Dís' gown and now-"

"Well, I _told_ you I was small when you started." Billa squirmed back out of the dress again, and Thorin kept his mouth shut. His tunic and robe had fit very well and needed only minor pinning around the shoulders.

"Yes, and I gave you _five inches_ to work with - and you've _still_ managed to out-grow it in six weeks!" Dori gathered up the gown like a fallen comrade. "If this continues, you'll start to look like Bombur."

"Nothing wrong with growing a little sideways," retorted Billa, but she did seem a little unnerved as the tailor left. She glanced at Thorin. "Is it really that bad? Be honest."

Thorin shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I thought it looked very flattering, but then... I am not a tailor." The only trouble he'd ever had with clothes fitting had more to do with his heritage than him growing between the time of the measuring and garment completion. Consistent with those of Durin's line, he'd always been markedly taller and slenderer than most of his friends and companions, so much so that on several notable occasions, he'd been mistaken for a human while seeking work in the villages of Men. His shorn beard hadn't helped in that regard.

"Perhaps Dori might be persuaded to let you wear it anyway. Unless, of course, it's too tight for you."

Billa hesitated a moment. "It wasn't, but Dori seemed to think I'd..." _keep gaining weight_. She seemed bothered by the unspoken words.

Thorin smiled faintly. "Not before tomorrow, I hope." Tomorrow. The word sent a sudden thrill of fear up his spine, and he looked away from the halfling.

There was so much to be done before then. The invitations had gone out a week before, but preparations were taking longer than anticipated. The Hall of Kings was even now being festooned, the seamstresses and weavers hired from Esgaroth frantically finishing the banners and tapestries, the dwarven smiths repairing, polishing, and rehanging the multi-faceted crystal lanterns. Thorin himself was putting the finishing touches on his crown, which had to be forged by his own hand, as was tradition. Billa's, too, he was in the process of designing, but it would not be required until the wedding.

Wedding. There was another rather frightening word. For different reasons, perhaps. He wondered if Billa felt the same way, and that made him even more nervous.

"You'll be alright, Billa." The words didn't necessarily follow the previous topic, but the hobbit didn't seem to notice.

"Of course I'll be alright. It's not _my_ Coronation, after all. I'm just a guest."

Thorin pressed her hand to his lips. "For now."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she scolded, but there was no authority in her fond tone. Perhaps, Thorin thought as his heart gave a little twist, she was actually looking forward to it. That would make it easier. Tomorrow was no less frightening, though.

"You're distracted," Billa observed with a smile, troubles already forgotten. How he envied her that. "I'll give you two hours to wrap up whatever project is taking your attention, and then I'm hunting you down. You promised to spend time with me tonight."

"I look forward to it, my fearless huntress." Thorin returned the fond smile, and it lingered as he walked quickly down the hall. A few minutes later, he was at the forge, his mind drifting above the heat and steam and the hammer's ring. It was automatic, and he enjoyed that.

Before he knew it, he'd finished the etching and burnishing, and set the last of the jewels. It almost surprised him, the masterful creation gleaming on his workbench, having taken effortless shape under his fingers. In a way, it had seemed too easy. He wondered if Thror had finished his own crown in just under six hours. Or if it had been a labor of days. Or weeks. Or months.

"Got you!"

Thorin jumped several inches off his chair, the crown flying out of his hands. It clattered to the stone floor with a metallic cacophony, and Thorin turned to look at Billa, one eyebrow raised. It seemed the "huntress" had, indeed, gotten him.

"Will you be doing this often?" He couldn't bring himself to be sharp with her, despite the potential harm that might have come from her little game. Perhaps in a few months, the charm of their new life would have worn off - but what did it matter? He wasn't upset.

"Only if it'll be normal for you to sit and stare at that thing without moving all the while I'm walking up. Come on, it's like an oven in here, and your two hours are up."

Thorin made a huffing sound, moving around the desk to retrieve the, thankfully, intact crown. "Would you believe I wasn't actually seeing it until about the last three seconds?"

"You're going to have to work on that." Billa tucked herself under his arm. As they walked out, Thorin carrying the crown, Billa wrinkled her nose. "Phew. Bath first. Then you're mine."

Thorin chuckled. "Oh, you don't appreciate the smell of hot dwarf?"

"Oh, no. I definitely appreciate hot dwarf-smell." The halfling flashed him a cheeky smile. "What I don't appreciate is hot metal, leather, and whatever you're burning in that forge. It smells like a dragon."

"Wood?" In other times and places, one might have laughed at the comparison. Here of late, it seemed everyone knew what a dragon smelled like. Among other unpleasant things Thorin didn't prefer to think about at present.

"Someday, perhaps, your memory will become less acute and my forge will no longer vex you. No self-respecting Queen Under the Mountain loathes metal-working." It was said with a hint of teasing, but he could tell it made Billa a little uneasy.

"Wood? Really? Strange. The smell of burning wood has never bothered me before." Billa frowned slightly, but the trouble seemed to pass quickly in light of more pleasant things. "After you wash up, I have a surprise for you. But you have to at least pretend to like it. I'll frown at you most severely if you don't. And maybe cry."

"In that case, I suppose you will never know for certain whether I actually like it or not."

Thorin parted ways with Billa temporarily, and emerged from the baths a scant fifteen minutes later, his wavy hair damp, but styled in its usual fashion. He found the hobbit waiting for him in his chambers, her face fixed (perhaps intentionally) in an unreadable expression.

Thorin approached her, arms crossed before him. "Well?"

Whatever the "surprise" was, it was likely important to her or she wouldn't have placed such importance on his liking it. He hoped it wasn't a prank. He'd had quite enough of those from his nephews, thank-you very much.

Billa waited until he was settled, then stood. Soundlessly, she moved to the bedside table and withdrew a small package from the drawer. When Thorin accepted it, he noted that it was very light. Carefully, under the halfling's watchful gaze, he opened it to reveal a necklace. A long, thick leather cord, and a pendant - it was a round leather-wrapped hoop supporting an intricate web of delicate string.

Thorin dangled it before his face, studying it closely. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the halfling's. She seemed very expectant, and he hoped his reaction wasn't disappointing her.

"It's beautiful. You made this?"

She flushed, smiling. Her pleasure was nearly palpable. "Yes. Bombur helped me a bit with the leather, but it's a... well, it's a Hobbit thing. The types of knots a Hobbit gives to another symbolize different types of love."

Thorin ran his hand over the web of knotted string. "And... what sort of love do these symbolize?" The knots were surprisingly complex, and he wondered when (and from whom) she'd learned to tie them.

Billa chuckled, shifting slightly. "As a general rule, the harder the knot is to untie, the deeper and more permanent the love is." She nodded to the pendant. "There are many, and they are small. You're never getting those apart." Thorin wondered if it would indicate the termination of a Hobbit relationship when one untied the knot the other had given. He certainly wouldn't be testing the theory.

Thorin nodded at her, his appreciation deepening. The gift was simple, and at the same time, very complex, laden with symbolism. He wasn't one to wear excess jewelry, but if the item was meaningful, he'd make exceptions. On the Quest of Erebor, he'd worn a key on a cord around his neck, a gift from his father. Now he'd wear a pendant, handmade by his One.

He slipped it over his head, adjusting the cord so it was visible between his collar and over the ties of his tunic.

"Thank-you, Billa." He picked up the pendant so it rested in his palm, then placed the hobbit's fingers over it and covered her hand with his other one. "I shall treasure it." Thorin smiled at her, and she beamed with happiness.

"You're not just saying that? You really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. I've never been _that_ good at pretending."

She didn't have to agree quite so heartily. Still, she was happy, and there was little more he could ask. And now, he reflected, their engagement was official. He had given her a courting gift (a very traditional one, at that) and she had given him one as well, equally traditional in its own right.

"I love you," he whispered, and she nudged her way under his arm, pressing herself against his side.

"And I'll never forget it," Billa promised happily.


	5. IV - Changed - Legolas

_A/N: And we're back! I hope this next chapter finds you all well and ready for more post-BotFA drama. We hope you don't mind a bit of a Kiliel break before we return you to your regularly scheduled BagginShield. :)_

_Firstly, to all those with suspicions a certain halfling may be expecting: I cannot say one way or another. We shall see... ;)_

_Happyfangirl: I, too, really appreciate that hobbits like to enjoy life (and food). Now that that dratted quest is over, Billa is looking forward to settling down and getting properly "hobbit-sized" again._

_Dazed Amazed: Thank-you. It's good to be back. :)_

_Taki-Sama101: Thanks for your patience. We're trying to keep the updates pretty regular, but that means there will probably be at least a week and a half between each chapter. If I could update every day, I totally would._

_iamCAMBRIA: So we meet again, loyal reader. Glad to see you back. *hands out more cupcakes*_

_Just4Me: Dain's a hard nut to crack, that's for sure. I think his angle will become more clear as the story goes on, but for now, I guess we'll just have to hope he's not up to any mischief. ;)_

_Biddle29, Mr. Darcy, Rhett Butler: Hello, m'dears. Glad to hear you're all enjoying the fluff. :) I'll try to keep it coming as long as possible. We thought you needed a break from all the trauma at the end of_ Fiercer Than Fire_... just remember, some things aren't meant to last. As for a one-shot with Thorin throwing the Arkenstone in the lake... we'll see. Could be very entertaining to play with. :)_

_Radwoman: *secretive giggling* I'll never tell... ;)_

_Four_

The mountains rose steeply ahead and to either side, and a flicker of motion above the path and to the left alerted the small party to the presence of others. The blue and black of a Rivendell Guard made the briefest appearance between the trees, and he was acknowledged with a whistling bird call from the party on the path.

Legolas listened to the subtle changes in his guard as they began to relax. Now that they were within Rivendell's outer borders, the likelihood of something going wrong was drastically reduced. Really, he would have liked to make the journey alone, but his father would hear nothing of it.

Not that the elf prince blamed him. Thranduil thought there was a chance he would sneak to Erebor for the Coronation, perhaps in the hope of seeing Tauriel again. When she and her dwarven companion had last been in the Woodland Realm, wild rumors of her marriage and unborn child had raged through the palace. Legolas shook his head in disgust. That his people - _her_ people - would spread such vicious tales was beyond his understanding.

A mellow horn call reminded him that they were approaching the hidden valley. "Form up," he ordered, though the command was superfluous.

White, gushing ribbons rushed down every side of the valley, or down stony channels wending betwixt the buildings, the sound mingling into a gentle watery murmur. It was exactly as Legolas remembered. It had been so long since he'd been here last; he'd been but an elfling at the time. Suffice it to say, Lord Elrond and King Thranduil did not see eye to eye on much. Thranduil's recent service to the Last Homely House's ruler, however, had mended many things.

Lindir met them at the staircase inside the entranceway, greeting the party with an elegant bow. "Welcome, Prince Legolas. My Lord Elrond is in his study, and asked that I convey you to the guest rooms. I will inform him you have arrived."

"Thank you."

The rooms were comfortably appointed, bright and airy, with windows opening out onto one of the wide, but peacefully flowing streams.

It was as Legolas moved to the window that he spotted them.

The dwarf and his former captain. Kíli was beside and slightly in front of her, holding her hand, and they seemed to be attempting to cross the stream. The water was up to Kíli's knees, but midcalf on the elleth.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Tauri. I mean, what if you slip? I might not be able to catch you." The words drifted to Legolas's ears over the gurgling stream, despite the fact that the two were facing away from the guest rooms. He scoffed to himself. It wasn't as though she were helpless, and he wondered why Tauriel allowed him to coddle her so.

He moved stealthily toward the door but paused when the elleth answered her mate in her quiet, smooth voice.

"You will catch me. Or if you dislike it so, you will find another crossing. But I_ shall_ cross." Her tone was uncharacteristically stubborn, and the Woodland prince found himself hoping, in a childish, unbelieving way, that Tauriel had tired of the dwarf.

Kíli turned, and Legolas could see his face clearly. The young dwarf was so intent on Tauriel that the elf thought there was little chance of being noticed. But the look on his face - Kíli looked fondly exasperated, but had an expression of thinly veiled concern lurking behind his smile.

"Tauri..."

The red-haired elleth was already moving forward, tacking against the current, and Kíli had no choice but to follow. Tauriel's footing seemed uncertain, her movements strangely unbalanced. It wasn't until she turned slightly, presenting Legolas with a partial profile, that the reason was explained.

Her gaze was on the water, which was now up to her knees, intense with concentration. But it wasn't her face that held Legolas' attention. Her bosom was heavy and full, her stomach full, nearly to bursting with what could only have been an unborn child. She was, for lack of a better word, _big_.

The prince had been blessed to see elf-children in the past. Once, he had even seen an elf-lady with child. It was so rare, such a thing was greatly celebrated. But even so, Legolas would have staked his future kingdom on saying that no elf he had ever seen had been so very... large.

As he thought this, Tauriel lurched awkwardly backward, clearly having just slipped. Kíli barely caught her, and only then with a great splash, the water up around his thighs.

"I told you-" he began, but Tauriel was giving voice to a string of curses Legolas was positive weren't in Elvish.

By the time Kíli managed to assist her back to shore, both were very wet. It seemed one poorly placed foot deserved another, and the current was swifter than it looked. Tauriel caught sight of Legolas. Her mouth fell open a little, her already flushed cheeks reddening further. She was clearly mortified.

So was Legolas. He began to stammer out a greeting, but Kíli cut him off.

"Good fun, I guess, sitting back and watching us half-drown." His fringe, soaking wet and plastered to his forehead, was dripping into his eyes, and Legolas wondered if he could even see.

Unsure of whether to be insulted or ashamed, the elven prince just shook his head and strode forward, catching Tauriel's other arm. Even with as little of her weight as she allowed him to support, it was obvious that the elleth was both much heavier and much less steady than she had once been.

"Come in and sit," he offered, and when the redhead turned a displeased, embarrassed look on him, he added, "please." Whether out of obedience or an actual need to sit was unclear, but Tauriel agreed. Kíli snorted quietly.

"Was beginning to wonder who taught you manners," the dwarf muttered uncharitably.

"Kee." Tauriel's tone of sharp disapproval cowed her mate, and Legolas felt a curious mixture of pleasure and shame. At least she still seemed to value him as a friend.

But that was a stupid thought. Of course she did. She'd said so many times - at their last parting, before the Battle, after the Desolation, in Laketown, before their initial farewell in the Woodland Palace. The prince's insides twisted with guilt as he helped her into a chair and turned to fetch blankets. She had never blamed or doubted him. Then again, he had never chosen anyone over her.

Tauriel accepted the blanket he offered, though Kíli insisted he was "fine," and continued to drip steadily on the mat by the door, arms folded before him. There was much of his uncle in the way he stood now, the set of his jaw, the sharpness of his gaze. He'd changed much from the gawky youngling he'd been in the dungeon of the Woodland Realm.

Legolas didn't particularly want to touch on a nerve at this singularly awkward moment, but... it was on his mind too heavily for him to simply ignore it. "When I heard the rumors circulating throughout the palace, I... I did not believe them. But it's true. You _are_ with child."

"How observant of you," the elleth muttered, pulling the blanket about herself as though she could conceal her new bulk. It didn't work.

"It can't have been that long since you two..." Legolas gestured nebulously, and for some reason, Tauriel laughed. It was a tense sound, but her laughter had been rare as a Guard captain and the blond elf was startled by the readiness of it. It seemed her mate wasn't the only one that had changed.

"It is possible that the union between a dwarf and an elf is not so... unnatural as some would believe."

"It's a blessing," said Kíli, and the words sounded so much like a challenge that Legolas raised an eyebrow at him. Had the young dwarf encountered so much resistance that he felt it necessary to initiate hostilities?

"The Valar are with you, to be sure." The elf paused, wondering if he dared say what was on his mind. In the chair before him, Tauriel sank tiredly back into the cushions, and Kíli turned to track the motion, eye jumping over the great swell of her stomach. "Tauriel... this may seem indelicate, but I must ask. Aren't you a little _big_ for how recently the child was conceived?"

The elleth almost winced, and a shift of the blankets seemed to indicate she had put a hand on her belly. "Dwarrows are born larger than elflings." It was a statement, but a defensive one. Perhaps bringing it up had been unwise.

Legolas nodded. "I see. Forgive me, Tauriel. I did not mean to cause offense. I was just... curious."

"If you're done interrogating her," Kíli said irritably, "perhaps we might return to our chambers. We'll be needing to wash up and change clothes before dinner."

The elf prince slanted a peeved look at the dwarf, then returned his focus to Tauriel. "Go, then. I will see you soon."

There was more he wished to know, but it could wait until dinner. Or after.

* * *

><p>Legolas was pleased, though perhaps not terribly surprised to find that he was to dine with his host, and Elrond's other honored guests - Kíli and Tauriel.<p>

The meal was quiet, though the elven prince conversed lightly with the lord of Imladris. Kíli maintained his silence, and Tauriel spoke only when directly addressed. The elleth seemed strangely reluctant to eat her full portion, and Elrond repeatedly urged her to finish the salad on her plate, but Tauriel resisted.

"I'm not hungry."

"You should be eating more." Elrond's tone was gentle, but stern.

"I don't see why. I eat enough." Her stubborn words were complemented by the cold anger in her voice. Legolas was frankly shocked by her attitude. Had she truly changed so much since leaving the Guard? He hardly seemed to know her.

"You know perfectly well why you should eat more," pressed Elrond, still as gentle as one could wish.

"I said I'm not hungry."

"You should feed _both_ of your children, my lady."

By the look on Kíli's face (something like the expression one might acquire after being hit over the head rather forcefully) he'd been no more prepared for this than Legolas had. And Tauriel - her eyes filled rapidly with tears, and she dissolved into quiet sobs.

Legolas exchanged a very uncomfortable look with Kíli, and the meaning that passed between them - not for the first time in their tenuous relationship - was that one of them should probably say something. The veranda was silent but for the oblivious chirping of the birds mingled with water-song, and Tauriel's quiet shuddering.

Kíli finally swallowed the bite of food he'd taken before Elrond's words had put dinner quite out of his head, and directed a stunned look at the elf lord. "T- twins? She's having twins?"

Elrond nodded mutely, looking a touch remorseful. Perhaps he regretted not breaking the news to her sooner. How he'd known at all was anyone's guess.

"Why didn't you tell us last night?" Kíli asked, scooting closer to Tauriel and putting an arm around her. "You looked her over and said everything was fine. Normal."

"I... thought it better to let the lady realize for herself. I see now that I ought to have said something when you first arrived."

"You knew? All this time?" The dwarf's tone was now hurt. Betrayed. Tauriel said nothing, but pressed her face against her husband's hair. Legolas considered saying something, then decided that pretending not to exist was probably the safer course of action. It was deeply disturbing, unsettling, to see Tauriel so unstable.

Elrond's lips tightened slightly. Legolas could tell he'd not foreseen this reaction from the elleth, and that that fact itself bothered him.

_Twins_. He felt a stab of jealousy at the thought. The dwarf prince would soon be a father twice over, the mother an elleth he himself had desired so many years and done nothing about, constrained by duties, by status.

No. _He_ should have been the father, and these twins his own. He could imagine this scene so differently, himself at her side, comforting her through her tears, reassuring her he'd care for her, care for their children. As it was, he was powerless to help. Unnecessary. Alone.

With great effort, he pushed these thoughts away, unwilling to give himself over to the whirlwind of pointless regret. What did it matter now? What was done was done.

Tauriel pushed Kíli away after a moment and stood. Legolas actually prepared to stand, concerned. Even as the dwarf got to his feet, Tauriel shook her head, one hand pressed tightly to the side of her swollen stomach as she stumbled slightly.

"You'll please excuse me," she murmured distractedly, heading toward the archway leading off the verandah. Kíli started to go after her, but she turned an adamant expression on him. "I need a few minutes."

Defeated, the dwarf sat down again, watching her until she was out of sight. Shaking his shaggy head, he hunched toward the table. "What have I done?"

Had his hearing been any less keen, Legolas might not have caught the muttered question. He began to feel a certain amount of pity for the young dwarf. While the current situation _was_, in fact, his fault, it wasn't as if he'd planned any of it. Tauriel's reaction was painful to watch, even for her former prince, and he wondered why she was so distraught.

"Prince Kíli," he said, delicately, and the dwarf looked up at him with mournful brown eyes. "I know it is none of my concern, but I may be able to help. If you will allow me to, that is."

Kíli sighed. "I know it was soon for this to happen, but... I'd no idea she'd take it like _this_." There was distinct vulnerability in the prince's tone now; desperation was tempering his pride. "It's killing me. I don't know what to do. What to say. I wish I could... undo what I've done."

Legolas glanced at Elrond, whose lips were pursed again. It was clear he disapproved of Kíli's sentiment, but he was keeping his mouth shut.

"I think I might be able to fathom why she reacted so strongly. Prince Kíli, with your permission, I-"

"Yes, yes! Go help her!" Exasperated, desperate, Kíli flapped a hand at Legolas, who stood, bowed, and departed.

Where he found Tauriel was only slightly less distressing than watching her leave. She hadn't gone far, but now she stood perilously close to the rushing white foam of a waterfall, which slipped from a higher point and plunged into a deep pool several feet below them. Red hair buffeted this way and that by the impish winds, she looked like the shadow of a wild thing, her gaze fixed on the pool below them, her face wet with tears and cold spray.

"I hope you are not thinking of jumping." Legolas's voice startled her, and her face twitched toward him.

"Of course I'm not!" She sounded half-offended by the suggestion, and Legolas raised a hand in a token of apology.

"I know you wanted to be alone, but mellon'nin, please don't feel as though you must bear this burden alone. You can tell me what is bothering you. You've always been able to before."

Tauriel held her peace for a moment, turning her gaze back to the rushing water. "Nothing is the same," she said at length, and her voice quavered unsteadily. "_I'm_ not even the same. I made my choice, and nothing will change it, but..." The elleth let her words fade into silence, and Legolas thought he understood where she had been going with the thought.

"It's not what you expected?"

Tauriel nodded slightly.

_So what_ did _you expect_? The question came immediately to Legolas's mind, but he wouldn't voice it. It was rooted more in resentment than concern for her wellbeing.

"It will take some time, Tauriel. You have known only one life until this point, and changes such as these take getting used to. It has all been very... sudden." Too sudden for anyone's comfort, he felt. Such was the way of rash decision-making. Quickly done, and painfully slow in the mending.

"Two lives," she corrected. "I had a life before coming to the Woodland Realm." After a moment, she sighed and turned to face him. He noticed that she still had a hand on her stomach. Twins. The thought pierced him, jealousy and regret surging to the surface.

"Legolas, I can't do this. I can't be a mother. Not for one, let alone two." She shook her head and swayed slightly, spreading her feet a little to better support her weight.

Legolas swiftly closed the distance between them, reaching out to steady her. She shot him a questioning look, but he didn't let go. "I'd trust your balance, but... you fell in the river earlier." She frowned, obviously ashamed of her perceived incompetence. _Can't even be trusted to _stand_ on my own anymore_, her face seemed to say.

Legolas deeply pitied her in that moment. "What makes you think you can't be a mother? The way you led the guards in your charge during your many years as captain, and protected our people... The way you saved those you could from the dragon's flames after that, and slew the Defiler in the Great Battle... How is motherhood more frightening than what you've faced in the past?"

Tauriel shivered slightly and, after a moment, leaned against him. It was a dizzy feeling, to have her so close to him. Her body was soft and warm, softer than he could have imagined. Legolas closed his eyes and, with a magnificent effort, pushed her gently away. She was married to another, and no matter how little he liked Kíli, he wouldn't do something like that. Not to Kíli. Not to Tauriel. The elleth loved her mate. That was obvious, even with her currently unstable mood.

"I'm not afraid of the challenges." Her voice was still unsteady, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I'm afraid of what hasn't happened yet. And no matter how many times Kee tells me not to be scared... it keeps coming back."

"I don't understand what you fear may happen." Legolas shook his head, the wind from the falling water catching up his pale blond locks. "You fear you will not be able to protect your children? That they will not be safe?"

She didn't answer, but the way she was suddenly avoiding his gaze was all the answer he needed. Legolas shouldn't have been surprised. She'd told him of this fear in the past, that she couldn't properly defend those who trusted her. But there was still a feeling of incredulity, of disbelief. Tauriel was the strongest, fiercest elleth he had ever met.

"Tauriel, listen to me." It was a risk, but something told him these were the right words to say. Pushing his hair out of his face, he tightened his hold on her elbow. "I would trust you with my life, still. And... with the lives of my children. I cannot imagine anyone, anywhere, who could be a better mother."

By now, her hair was hanging in damp red clumps around her face and shoulders, but when she glanced at him, there was gratitude in her eyes. Then Tauriel winced, her body tensing as she rocked unsteadily forward.

The lunge to catch her was short, but effective, in that she didn't fall. Not so effective in that his free hand was now braced against her burgeoning midriff at precisely the point a tiny foot was jabbing repeatedly into the elleth's side.

Legolas quickly repositioned his hand, pulling her away from the edge. His eyes were as wide as hers. "I jus- I just felt them. Tauriel, I felt them _moving_."

There was distinct wonder in his voice, and for an instant he looked and sounded as excited and astonished as a child discovering something for the first time. Something completely new and unexpected.

"Yes," Tauriel agreed with a fleeting smile, though she looked a bit strained as she leaned against him, "they are rather good at that. If you'll excuse me..." Straightening, she turned away with something of a waddle in her gait (extremely unusual to see, even if he shouldn't have been watching).

"Tell Kee I'll be right back. Oh, and Legolas-" she paused and looked back at him, "don't tell Kíli you felt them. I still don't let people touch me." As she moved away, the elf realized two things, both of which made him blush. First, she was walking swiftly toward the ladies' room. Second, she'd just told him that her own mate had never felt his children stir in her womb. Rather than triumph, Legolas immediately felt guilt.

The elf returned to the table, valiantly keeping his expression even despite its attempts to betray him. Kíli stared at him expectantly, and Elrond looked oddly curious.

"I think she will be alright," the blond pronounced finally, seating himself again. "She is just finding it difficult to adjust. It is trying, what she is going through. Even for one as hardy of constitution as she is."

Kíli let out a relieved sigh, but almost immediately straightened again. "Where is she?"

Legolas could only hope the heat in his cheeks wasn't visible. "She went to... refresh herself. She'll be back momentarily." Again the dwarf relaxed, but Elrond's expression didn't vary. His gaze was curious and piercing. He couldn't suspect - not that it mattered. Tauriel had made her choice, and that was that.

At length, the red-haired female rejoined them and took her seat beside Kíli. She even allowed him to fuss over her and press food on her, this time without protest or complaint.

Legolas finished his meal in silence, watching, observing, thinking. When it came time to part company, he directed a meaningful look at Elrond, and the elf lord nodded. They had things to discuss that did not involve his former captain and the dwarf she'd chosen as her mate.

* * *

><p>The water rushed on below the verandah outside Elrond's study, the sinking sun setting hues of deep orange and soft pink on the slanting roofs of the Last Homely House. Legolas had felt somewhat exposed out here, away from the green canopy and roof of stone, but the beauty of the sky as it moved from day to night was something he did not often witness.<p>

"All is not well at the Mountain?" Legolas turned to his host, who stood at the railing looking over his twilit domain. "Prince Kíli, I guess, is not here on royal business."

Elrond's eyes shifted from the valley to his guest, then up to the darkening sky, now spangled with tiny silver lights. For a minute, he didn't answer, the water's constant murmur softening the silence.

"Not all within the Mountain are as willing to accept their choice as you are, your Highness." The elf lord's voice, slightly deeper than that of Legolas' father, carried easily over the night sounds of the valley. "Neither of them will tell me, though, the exact state of affairs in Erebor."

"It must rest with Thorin Oakenshield, then. He would have the final say. So he does not approve of their union when he himself has made a halfling his consort?"

Legolas's tone was scathing, as though the situation were personally insulting. In a way, perhaps, it was. The ridiculousness of those dwarves, thinking his guard captain wasn't worthy of their prince.

His host turned to look at him, and though the motion was smooth and his expression was gentle, there was something in the elf lord's gaze that made Legolas feel slightly ashamed.

"I sensed no dissension between Kíli and his uncle. I have seen that there is trouble in the Mountain, but my vision is clouded."

It was then that the elf prince noticed, ashamed for not seeing it sooner, that Elrond was still a little pale. His health and vigor had been restored, perhaps, but his energy was still somewhat drained.

He decided then that he would not keep his host from his rest much longer.

"Trouble? What kind of trouble? Do the dwarves not respect Thorin's right to rule?" That seemed to Legolas the most typical issue to arise in a fledgling kingdom. Power struggles between the nobles as each found his place in the new system of leadership.

"I can't say I know. Only that there is trouble. And unless Oakenshield asks for our assistance, I believe we shall continue not knowing." Elrond's gentle warning wasn't lost on the prince, but Legolas began to think his father might have known more than he let on. If there was going to be trouble, it would be now, during the coronation. He could only imagine what was happening in Erebor now.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond. It grows late. Perhaps I should retire."

"Your chambers are ready for you."


	6. V - Forever-Light - Kíli

_A/N: We return with Kiliel fluff! (Not to worry, those of you who are missing Thorin and Billa. The BagginShield will be back next chapter.)_

_Viridianaln9: I'm glad. :)_

_Cherryblossom27a: Wow. I'm very flattered. Believe it or not, I'd never gender-swapped characters before _Fiercer Than Fire_, so it was quite a new experience for my co-author and I. So happy you're able to join us for the s__equel. As for "happy endings"... I can promise a satisfying conclusion, though not necessarily a "happy" one. I hope that doesn't scare you away._

_Biddle29, Mr. Darcy, Rhett Butler: Kíli and Tauriel are quite an interesting and unconventional couple, and I think they'll ultimately get their issues sorted out. Hopefully Legolas doesn't get himself too entangled in everything, though. Wow, Mr. Darcy and Rhett seem to have access to vast sums of money. Buying out the entire snack aisle can't be cheap. It's unfair, really, how they can have such excellent figures whilst eating so much junk food, too. :D _

_Just4Me: It's to be expected, I think, that Tauriel would have some trouble adjusting to all these changes. Change generally doesn't come so quickly for Elves, and I don't think she's fully recovered yet from her episode toward the end of the last story. Legolas is definitely arrogant (we know who he gets it from), but when you consider he's a prince who's never really had much to humble him, it makes sense. _

_Shiva: Why, hello! Glad to see you're following the sequel, too. That's definitely an interesting theory, that the Ring may be hindering Elrond's sight. Whether it actually is or not, I can't confirm as of yet, but stay tuned. ;) _

_IAmCAMBRIA: That is a hilarious (and very accurate) image. I may steal that at some point. *grins* He is still very young, in his own way, and definitely naïve. It's hard for him to know what to think/feel. His best friend is pregnant, and while he's alternately fascinated and disturbed by the concept, it's so new to him it's really hard for him not to be really awkward about it._

* * *

><p><em>Five<em>

Kíli pulled his cloak a little tighter around himself, his breath a pale cloud in the dark air. Tauriel climbed at his side with her now-standard waddling gait, huffing softly with her exertions. The curving stairway up to the observatory was not an easy trek, despite the even steps and iron railing. Below them, the water rushed on, the mist rising steadily, glinting in the moonlight.

"We picked a good night for stargazing," Kíli commented, indicating the clear skies above. If there was one thing to raise the elleth's spirits, the dwarf figured this was it.

She didn't pause until they reached the first of the landings, and when she did, Kíli braced her swaying form with a hand on her lower back. Tauriel complained about how uncoordinated and clumsy she was now, but the young dwarf never thought her anything less than breathtaking. Her gaze was on the stars above them now, and he guided her gently away from the stairs, unable to stop the smile that spread from his heart to his face. There was that glowing look he'd so hoped to see.

Dinner had been hard on her, but talking with the Woodland prince had helped, and he wasn't about to hold a grudge against the elf for helping her relax.

"I hear them." Tauriel's voice was soft, but held that 'I feel like crying' note he'd become familiar with over the past couple weeks. A glance at her face showed her eyes wet with tears, and Kíli felt a stab of anxiety. Had bringing her up here been the wrong thing to do? _No, stay calm_. She didn't look unhappy. Things might still be alright.

"Hear what?"

"The stars." She blinked, but the wetness didn't go away. "It sounds like home."

"Home? The Woodland?" They reached the second landing, and paused for a moment. Kíli offered the elleth a comforting look. "I know you miss it. I long for my own home sometimes. When I think about it, I... I almost don't want to remember the way things used to be."

He exhaled slowly, casting his gaze over the railing to the watery depths below. Then he turned back to Tauriel, smiling faintly. "But you are my life now. Wherever we are together... I am home."

She gave him a fond look and bent slightly to press a kiss to his forehead. "May I never forget why I love you." For a moment, Kíli just held her, savoring the closeness of her body, imagining that, so close to the stars, her spirit was also close, safe in his arms.

Up the stairs, they proceeded at a comfortable pace for her until they reached the broad platform at the top. Here, there were cushions and low benches for reclining as the stars danced above, wool blankets folded and stacked neatly against the wall. It was empty tonight, save for them. If Kíli happened to have mentioned this idea to Elrond, it surely had little to do with their current blessing of privacy.

_I'll need to thank him tomorrow._

Tauriel settled herself on a bench, the cushions being too low for her to comfortably rise from them in another hour, and Kíli got a blanket for them. She shared willingly, despite the significantly reduced space between her body and the thick fabric. He didn't mind.

When the dwarf felt the first tiny flutters of movement, he thought it was Tauriel's stomach, and politely ignored it. But it continued. Tiny patterns. Thumps and bumps. His children. Twins.

Kíli turned to look at her, startled by the realization. "Tauri, that's... that's _them_, isn't it?" He could scarcely believe it. It was one thing to know there was life growing within her, quite another to feel it for himself.

Then it occurred to him it might be painful to have little feet pummeling her insides, and a look of concern spread across his face. "Does it hurt?"

Tauriel shook her head. "Uncomfortable sometimes, but not painful. They're just very... active. Started this," she indicated her stomach pointedly, "a few days ago. I think they get it from you."

It was strange, but not unpleasant, to hear her discussing their children (_their_ children!) so comfortably. Before, she had adamantly refused to even acknowledge that she was pregnant.

What, Kíli wondered, had Legolas said that had made such a difference? Whatever it was, he needed to thank the elf for it.

The dwarf smiled, relief washing over him. "I wonder what else they may have gotten from me. My ravishing good looks, perhaps." Tauriel glanced at him in a way that seemed to mean he was being silly, and he shrugged. "In all honesty, I don't know what to expect. Will they have pointed ears? Will they have... beards?"

The elleth shrugged as if the answer was of no concern, and turned her eyes back to the sparkling heavens. Kíli was a little bothered that she didn't seem to care what their children would look like, but quickly realized that she was probably right. A quiet voice in his mind that sounded remarkably like his wife's told him that they could look like Hobbits, and it wouldn't change a thing. The thought made him smile.

He felt her tense slightly, a shiver running through her. It passed to him, as well - it wasn't a pleasant thing to contemplate, the danger their children might be in.

"They will be safer here than anywhere else," Tauriel whispered at length. "I honestly don't know if Erebor will ever be safe for any of us. We can hope, though. Your uncle is a strong leader, and a good king. I can't imagine he would let his kin remain in exile if he could help it." Even this confidence was tempered by conditions. If he could help it.

Kíli nodded slightly. "I don't think it matters much, one way or another. I won't let any harm come to them, no matter where we stay." Tauriel let out a faint huff of laughter, which tickled his ear, and he shook his head. "What's so funny?"

When she replied, he could hear the smile in her voice. "I trust you completely, with my life and theirs. I just wonder where you plan for us to live that would call for so fierce a defense."

Her mood had been so unstable of late that he was reluctant to point out how great the dangers were outside of Elrond's generous protection. This was the first night in a long while that she'd allowed him so close - though he now knew the reason why. The fluttering movements of the twins in her belly rippled against his side. Had she wanted to distance herself from him? From their children?

"If Erebor is not safe, I'd take us back to Ered Luin," he said after a moment's contemplation. "That was the plan originally, and I think it still makes the most sense. When the twins have... _arrived_," he made a strange accompanying gesture, "and you're able to travel again, I'll send a message to Uncle. We won't go back to Erebor unless he's certain there won't be any trouble."

He massaged his scruff thoughtfully, a habit he'd taken to lately, now that his beard seemed to be filling out a little. "But we can't predict how Dain and others like him might react to seeing them, though. The twins. As I recall, that was one of his main grievances. That I was 'mingling Durin's blood,' or something stupid like that. I really hope it wouldn't set him off again."

"I don't know about dwarrows," Tauriel said cautiously, "but elflings don't usually travel." Kíli frowned slightly, and she explained. "My people were nomads. We rarely ceased traveling. But I didn't stray from my birthplace until I had finished my first growth, and could keep up with the adults."

"And you were... how old?" Kíli felt almost nervous in the asking. Since the day they had discovered she was pregnant, she hadn't said much about her past. If "not much" meant "nothing at all," that is.

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen?!" Kíli was genuinely shocked. "I don't understand. Why can't elflings travel? I mean, when I was a babe, Mam put me in a basket in the back of the cart and had Fee look after me whenever she needed to go someplace. Didn't hurt me a bit." He hesitated. "At least, I don't _think_ it did."

"It's not that they can't, it's that they don't. So few are born, that the adults guard them jealously, and keep them out of harm's way." Tauriel didn't seem at all defensive or surprised by his reaction. There was, however, an edge of anxiety in her tone. Kíli could read the fear she hid from him as easily as if it were whispered in his ear.

"You want to keep them safe," he said softly, "and you're afraid of what might happen if we leave Rivendell too soon?"

For a moment, the elleth kept her eyes on the stars, and he felt her steady breathing in her side and belly, the warmth of her body engaged in an enchanting, mysterious rhythm.

"By the time I was allowed to travel, I could defend myself." Her words weren't really an answer. "But I'll not keep you from your home." This addition startled the dwarf, but at the same moment he felt a rush of pride. She was facing her fears. Perhaps she would conquer them someday.

Kíli took her hand. "We'll wait and see. At this point, I suppose speculation isn't terribly helpful. I mean, until recently, we didn't even know it was possible for dwarves and elves to... reproduce." It seemed a rather crass word for the miracle taking place within Tauriel, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it.

"You are right," the elleth said softly, not taking her eyes from the sky. "And it follows worrying over what we cannot control is equally unhelpful. Set these cares aside for now, meleth nin, and listen. Listen to the silence awhile, and perhaps you will begin to hear as I do."

Kíli hesitated a moment, then relented, resting against her side. The contentment he found himself wrapped in came of knowing that the elleth beside him truly loved him, and that together, they could do this. The stars sparkled overhead, revolving slowly through the dark heavens, and the water continued to rush softly through the valley below.

"I love you, Tauri."

"I know, Kíli. Thank you. I would not be whole without it."

* * *

><p>A blinding flash of white-gold light woke Kíli suddenly, and he sat up, reaching for the knife at his belt without thinking. The platform was deserted except for them, though, and the light had only been that of the rising sun off the rippling water. Beside him, curled on the cushioned bench and still covered in the blanket he had brought with them, Tauriel slept peacefully, one arm over her face, the other draped over the dome of her swollen belly.<p>

For a minute, he just watched her. Even now, she still tried to draw her knees to her chest in sleep, curling in on herself as much as possible. This late in her pregnancy, of course, her burgeoning stomach stopped her from attaining the position she desired. A dagger rested on the bench not far from her hand, only a little above her head. In Rivendell, the safest place in Middle-earth, she slept with a weapon close at hand. Kíli wasn't sure whether to admire her or be amused.

A slight change in her breathing was all the warning he had before she was awake, luminous green eyes searching his face, dagger in hand. "Kíli? What-? Oh." A chagrined look crossed her face. "I fell asleep."

Kíli tried not to smile. He had a feeling that expressing his amusement now probably wouldn't endear him to the sleep-muddled elleth. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to bother you, so…" He shrugged, and suppressed a grin when Tauriel gave him an exasperated look.

"In my dream," she said almost threateningly, "you shaved your beard."

"Shaved my-?" Kíli felt a shock at the thought. It would mean the sort of grief and shame that he'd never known, that his uncle had lived with for years. No dwarf shaved his beard without very good reason. But how could she know that? Obviously, she didn't. Kíli mastered himself and shook his head. "I wouldn't do that. I've wondered, though, what you would look like with a beard."

The look Tauriel fixed him with as she stretched was a very strange one, and he hastened to explain.

"Well, you saw Mam. Dwarf women have beards." He tried to shrug it off, make it sound like a small thing. Tauriel wasn't willing to let it go, though, and she frowned at him until he continued. "It's kind of a… status thing. A full beard is a sign of health, prosperity, stuff like that."

Tauriel's gaze flicked down to his scruff, and Kíli flushed.

"I'm still young. My beard's coming in." It was a little humiliating to be reminded of how young he still was. Barely even come of age, and married to an elf who'd been killing orcs when his mother was still in swaddling clothes, and now he was soon to be the father of half-breed twins. It made him feel small and lost. Kíli jumped when her fingers brushed his cheek, the contact bringing him back to his immediate surroundings rather suddenly. Tauriel's expression was thoughtful, gentle, as she stroked the short, dark bristles that covered his jaw.

"I suppose… on you, I wouldn't mind it." She sighed faintly and shook her head. "It's hard to imagine you with a beard like…." The elleth gestured to indicate a long, bushy beard of the sort she'd probably seen on other Dwarves, and it occurred to Kíli that his wife might not think of him as a normal Dwarf, like other Dwarves. Even if she knew that was precisely what he was, she had known him a relatively short time, and had (by her own admission) chosen to love him for his kindness and understanding, not his race or appearance. And Elves didn't grow beards. Ever.

"You… don't like beards, do you?" It was a bit of a shock to speak the words. It had never occurred to him that anyone, least of all his wife, could find facial hair unattractive. Tauriel studied him before answering, but as always, it was with open honesty.

"I don't _dis_like them. But I suppose I would be less likely to kiss you if you had more of a beard than you do now." Her fingers twirled his whiskers in little circles along his jaw, and he wondered if she was even aware she was doing it. It wasn't like they kissed all that often in any case, but the thought that his beard, when it came in, would make her less likely to be affectionate… it bothered him. At the same time, he didn't really want to say anything about it. After all, she was as free to have her opinions as he was to have his own. It might have been easier, Kíli thought, to be unbothered if there was something about her, anything, that he didn't like.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Tauriel withdrew her hand. "It makes no difference. I wouldn't ask you to cut off your beard any more than you would ask me to clip the points from my ears. Come. Someone is hungry, and I don't think it's me."

Kíli entertained only momentary confusion before realizing she was referring to the children in her womb. He made himself relax and stood, offering a hand to the elleth so he could help her to her feet. The walk down the long, spiral staircase that had brought them up here wasn't one he was looking forward to. As they turned toward the stairs, though, he saw a familiar blond figure standing on the top step, one hand on the railing. Legolas wasn't at the top of his list of people he wanted to see right now, but Kíli wouldn't begrudge the elf the freedom to wander where he would in the valley.

Still, he could have had better timing.

"Prince Legolas." Tauriel inclined her head to him in greeting, and Kíli imagined she was grateful for the fact that their meeting was under less mortifying circumstances than their first.

"Lady Tauriel." Legolas bowed slightly, and the elleth shifted, a sign Kíli had learned to interpret as one of discomfort. It must have been odd, he reflected, to have someone who'd been her superior for so long suddenly treating her as an equal. He remembered a similar feeling when Balin had been answering to _his_ authority after the Battle, while Thorin had been unconscious.

"Well, good morning to you, too," he called, making himself smile brightly as he pulled Tauriel just a little closer to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shoot him an amused look.

"I hadn't realized there was anyone up here," began Legolas apologetically, and Tauriel shook her head.

"We were just making our way down. You may have the view to yourself."

The nuances that passed between Elves, thought Kíli reflectively, were becoming easier to read. Legolas seemed, in his distant way, to be disappointed.


	7. VI - Crowning - Fili

_A/N: Finally here! The Coronation. I hope we're all sufficiently prepared, because this may not end the way any of us are expecting... *swell of dramatic music* _

_viridianaln9: Thanks so much. I very much enjoy Tauriel's philosophical musings. Even if Kili is a bit baffled by them. _

_Taki-Sama101: And thank-you, as well. :) Trust me when I say we need the fluff if we're going to survive what's waiting for our heroes. *shudder*_

_lamontceci: I'm glad to hear you like the story. I hope this newest chapter lives up to your expectations. :)_

_Six  
><em>

The hall was decorated with drapes and flags of brilliant gold and deep, royal blue. The assembled guests were dressed in their best finery, standing at attention while they waited for the ceremony to begin. The trumpet sounded and the doors opened. Several guests, Ori and Billa included, leaned forward anxiously, eagerly. Fíli glanced at the girls to his left and smiled. Their excitement was infectious. He stood beside the remade throne, and on the other side of the royal seat stood Dain. Both of them were richly dressed, though not as richly as the dwarf that approached them.

Thorin looked every inch the king, the years of travel and worry scrubbed away. His robe was blue velvet, embossed at the hems with angular, interlocking designs, his cloak dark blue and lined with wolf fur. Fíli had seen him look a bit nervous before the proceedings began, but there was no trace of it now. He moved evenly up the carpeted hall, his steps slow and deliberate, his wrists crossed behind him, his eyes focused on something Fíli couldn't readily identify. The throne, perhaps? The wall behind it?

The young dwarf glanced at the girls again, and saw that Billa's face was wet with tears. She wasn't making any noise, and she didn't seem to be in pain; the fact that she was crying and looked so happy at the same time was both confusing and wonderful to him. Fíli thought to himself that his uncle was very lucky to have found someone so completely devoted to him. His eyes fell on Ori, and for a moment, her gaze flicked up to meet his. He looked back to his uncle swiftly, but knew he was smiling. Ori had that effect on him.

Thorin stepped onto the dais, turning to Dain. The older dwarf bore a small cushion, upon which rested the crown Thorin had made. He dipped his head slightly in a token of respect, then indicated Thorin should face the assembly.

Thorin did, the trailing hem of his cloak twisting at his feet. Dain moved to stand at his side, looking inscrutably over the expectant crowd.

"Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, named Oakenshield for your feats in the battle of Azanulbizar," he began solemnly. Dain's words echoed impressively into the farthest reaches of the hall, where a small group from Esgaroth stood, watching a ceremony no Man had seen since the days of Thror. Near them, an even smaller group from the Woodland Realm looked on, though there were no blonds among them. "Do you hereby swear to uphold and enrich Erebor and her laws, to protect the rights and purity of her people, to defend her against outsiders until death takes you to the Halls of Waiting?"

Fíli felt a twinge of unease, and glanced at Dain. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but Thorin's brow was furrowed slightly. He could only guess at what passed through his uncle's mind. Protecting purity? Defending against outsiders? Fíli turned slightly to check on the girls, and saw confusion on both their faces. Billa held Ori's hands, and they watched anxiously. No one else in the hall seemed to think anything was wrong. Not even his mother. Dís stood quietly to the right of the throne, a couple paces beyond Dain's spot, looking on impassively. Why didn't she say anything?

There was a lengthy pause, and the assembly began to look a bit uncomfortable. The group from Esgaroth seemed particularly so, glancing one to another as if wondering if this was part of the ceremony.

"What is your answer, son of Thrain?" Dain stared at Thorin expectantly, a hint of what might have been irritation flashing across his face. Or anger. It was hard to tell.

Thorin lowered his chin, the muscles in his jaw tensing. Fíli knew the look well. Stubbornness. "I do not agree to these terms, Lord Dain. This was not the oath to which Thror and his forbears swore, and it will not be the one to which I swear."

There was something in the way Dain lifted his chin that bespoke triumph, though his expression remained unreadable.

"You refuse the oath that would make you king, son of Thrain?"

Murmurs broke out in the crowd, and Fíli took a half-step forward. He had no right to speak, but this was outrageous.

"Dain," he hissed softly, "what are you doing? This is a coronation, not a challenge."

Dain did not regard Fíli, though his words may or may not have been partially in response to the young dwarf's question. "This oath was the one agreed upon by the nobles, and is, therefore, the one to be used. To what part, may I ask, do you object, and on what grounds?"

Fíli could see his uncle hesitate, and knew there was no good way out of this. If Thorin took the oath, he would be forced to banish his One and disown Kíli for marrying an elf. If he refused to take the oath-

"The oaths of my grandsire and the kings before him are good enough for me. Do you doubt their validity?" Thorin's authoritative voice might have come from the stone itself, it was so deep. Dain sighed quietly, as though lamenting the necessity of explaining something so obvious.

"Erebor demands an answer, Oakenshield. Will you take the oath, or no?"

There was a moment of heavy silence, but Fíli could see the answer in his uncle's lowered brow. "No."

"Then you are not fit for the crown you forged." Dain turned to Fíli, and the blond felt a thrill of adrenaline course through his veins. What was Dain doing?

"Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror-" Dain's voice rolled over him, and he realized with a jolt that he was about to be given the same choice his uncle had just been faced with. The hall was full of stunned silence, not a soul stirring as Dain repeated the oath.

"I..." Fíli glanced at Thorin, then at Ori. He couldn't disown his own brother. He couldn't banish his uncle.

This was what Dain wanted, then. For Thorin and his heir to reject the throne. Kíli would be eliminated from the records for "sullying the bloodline," and Dís had given up her right to the throne in favor of her sons when he, her firstborn, had come of age.

There was no way to win.

"... no. I can't."

Dain made some attempt at looking disheartened, and allowed the weighty silence to drag on a bit before speaking again.

"Then as the next nearest of kin, I fear it is my duty to lead Erebor where these two have refused. All here are witnesses to what has taken place, and no doubt lament, as I do, what must now be done."

"This is madness," Thorin growled, shaking his head. "Madness and treason. You conceived this oath knowing full well it would not be one to which I could swear. You were planning this all along, and I curse myself for failing to see it sooner."

Dain turned slowly to face the assembled dwarves and Thorin. "You speak dangerous words, son of Thrain," he said softly, though his words were no less audible to everyone in the hall. "I do not, however, wish to strike against my kin. Take your nephew and leave the kingdom you rejected, and may you never return."

"This is not over, Nain's son," Thorin hissed, leaning closer to the older dwarf. "I have faced far greater hardship than banishment in my time, and with or without a kingdom, I will endure. Those who occupy thrones not meant for them... are oft quickly unseated."

With that, he loosed the clasp about his neck, letting the rich fabric pool at his feet, turned, and stalked from the hall. The crowd murmured in wonder and what may have been dismay as Dain took the crown from the cushion and placed it on his own head. It was a bit too small for him, and he frowned, struggling to position it as it was intended to sit, just over the ears.

The hall quieted again, and Dain repeated the words of the oath, vowing his adherence to its every provision. Fíli finally caught his mother's gaze, signing "What do we do?" in hasty Iglishmêk.

Her face remained as stony as before, and she gave no indication she understood.

The nobles were starting to file forward to swear fealty to their new king, and Fíli found himself once more forced into the position of needing to think for himself. He was halfway to deciding against staying in the hall when someone touched his arm, and he nearly crawled out of his own skin in surprise.

Ori was standing beside him, large eyes fastened on his face, dark with concern and fear. He shook his head after a moment and grasped her hand, willing his heart to slow its mad racing. The blond remembered Billa after a moment, and looked around for her in time to see the hobbit striding toward Dain with murder on her flushed face. Fíli grabbed her arm and dragged her with him as he left the hall in all haste. He needed to find his uncle before they did or decided anything else.

"Let me go," the halfling was snarling under her breath, though she offered him only token resistance. "I'll show him what sort of throne he ought to be sitting on. I'll make him_ eat _his own beard."

"Billa, he doesn't need another excuse to have you... dealt with." Fíli's tone was chilling, but the halfling didn't seem too put off from her wrath.

"I did _not_ face a dragon so that oaf could have Thorin's kingdom! We came this far, all of us. _We_ reclaimed Erebor, and he thinks he can just... take it? Just like that?"

"We'll discuss it with Thorin, Billa," Ori said, though she looked equally devastated. "I don't think we ought to try anything until we understand more of what's going on."

"Understand?" Billa's snarl broke into an indignant squeak. "A blind tunnel rat could see what's going on! That usurper just _stole Thorin's bloody kingdom!_"

Fíli had to remind himself that Billa was smaller than he, weaker, and female. Striking her wasn't an option. Even if he wanted very much to take out his emotions on someone.

"It's not our right to start a vendetta on Thorin's behalf." He didn't give her a chance to retort, but pushed her through the door into Thorin's chambers.

Thorin had changed into one of his old tunics, leaving the fancy one in a heap on the floor. His face was very grim, focused, and he seemed to pay the others little heed as they entered, continuing to fill a small satchel he'd set on the bed.

"Uncle," Fíli addressed him after a moment, and Thorin looked up.

"It's not safe for us here now. Any of us. Take what will serve you for a few weeks' travel, and nothing more. We've no time to lose."

"So that's it?" Billa looked indignant. "_That's_ the way Thorin Oakenshield responds to a bit of posturing on the part of his cousin? Running away? I don't understand what's gotten into you all."

Fíli's patience, already stretched to the breaking point, snapped quite spectacularly. "By Durin's dirty underthings, woman, _shut up._ Trust us to know what's necessary in a kingdom you've never been part of." The halfling took a hasty step back, looking quite shocked, and when Fíli turned to look at his uncle again, the dwarf's grim face was barely an inch from his own.

"If you speak to my One like that again, I can guarantee you a duel like you've never dreamed of." The ice-blue gaze shifted away from Fíli, and the blond found he could breathe again. "And Billa, please be quiet. You don't understand, and I don't have time to explain."

The door opened, and Balin, Dwalin, and Bofur entered in a jumble, talking over one another.

"Thorin, lad, say it's not true! Dain took your crown?" Balin's words silenced the others, who looked expectantly at their king. None of them had been present for the coronation, being needed elsewhere in the kingdom. And now that he thought about it, Fíli thought he should have been suspicious when the sons of Fundin hadn't been able to escape their duties to attend their own cousin's coronation.

Thorin shouldered the satchel, turning to the newcomers with an unreadable expression. "We must leave Erebor. I don't know for how long. We are all in grave danger, so kindly keep your mouths shut and pack what you will need for the journey. Dwalin, inform the others, and see that they're ready to leave within the next twenty minutes. Balin, make sure everyone in our party is armed. Quickly."

There didn't seem to be any room for argument. All knew this particular tone, this particular look. Thorin truly believed they were all in imminent danger.

The brothers exchanged a devastated glance, and Bofur followed them out.

Fíli stiffened suddenly, his gaze darting around the room. "Wait... where's Billa gotten to?"

As Thorin's expression changed from grim to annoyed, and finally to frightened, Fíli spun on his heel. "Ori, get our things ready. I'll look for Billa." He didn't wait for her to nod - he knew she would obey him. Right now, when they were all in danger, she could do little else.

Fíli launched himself into the hall, Thorin just behind, and knew immediately that they were in trouble. Somewhere down the hall and out of sight he could hear Billa's voice, and true to form, it sounded like she was in the midst of an angry tirade.

"You think you can just barge in and do this to us? We fought for this kingdom! We faced a dragon! You have no right! This is _Thorin's-_ GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

They rounded the corner to see a guard lifting the hobbit into the air as she kicked and struggled, face flushed with anger. "UNHAND ME!" she howled, seemingly unaware of the danger she was in. Facing her, a smug smile on his face, was Dain.

"You will have your just deserts, little thief."

"Release her." Thorin's voice was authoritative as ever, but seemed to ring hollow. Everyone knew he had no power here now beyond that of his own fists. "Release her, Dain, or so help me, I will-"

"You'll _what_?" Dain's smugness did not ebb in the slightest. "You'll attack me? Look around you, Oakenshield." He indicated the troop of guards flanking him, the guards at every doorway along the corridor, the guards lining the walls. "These dwarves are loyal to _me_, as they should be. Your time here is ended. You have disgraced your people - _betrayed_ your people - and I have been generous enough to allow you to go your way in peace."

"Then let us go." Thorin seemed to understand Dain was baiting him. "_All_ of us. Release her, and we will leave forthwith. There is nothing to be gained by doing her harm."

"Even if this creature hadn't committed high treason by stealing the king's jewel and giving it to the Oathbreaker, she just threatened and assaulted my royal person. She will be imprisoned and tried, as any other would." Dain's smug look was only serving to put Fíli in a particularly foul mood. He would have very much liked to do some threatening and assaulting himself. His uncle beat him to it, though.

"I said release her," growled Thorin.

"Uncle." Fíli's warning had no effect. Dain made a dismissive gesture.

"Take the prisoner to the dungeon."

Billa thrashed energetically. "You can't do this! Erebor is his home, damnit, doesn't that mean anything to you?!"

"Billa!" Thorin lunged forward, a flash of steel from his belt the only hint that he'd drawn a weapon. He was met by three guards and quickly disarmed.

"Leave, son of Thrain. There is nothing here for you now." Dain glanced at his men and nodded. "Take them to the gate. Our generosity is not to be tested."

* * *

><p>Fíli could only imagine the eviscerating pain his uncle was in, cast out of his own kingdom, his One torn away from him, awaiting what could only be a death sentence. Indeed, Thorin seemed overcome, his face against the stone of one of the statues flanking the gate. He was bleeding from his knuckles and a number of other lacerations he'd acquired struggling against the ten guards it had taken to wrestle him out of Erebor, and his shoulders shuddered with emotion he was desperately trying to withhold.<p>

"Uncle, the others will be here in a minute. We'll figure something out. We'll... we'll get her out of there, somehow."

Thorin gave no indication he'd heard his nephew, but Fíli was undeterred.

"Dain has no right to do what he did; the people will see that. They'll throw that usurping bastard out, wait and see."

The guards barring the gate didn't seem to like this kind of talk, and one of them jabbed Fíli with the butt of his spear. The blond recoiled, glowering at him and there were suddenly two matched blades in his hands, ready and spoiling for a fight.

"Try it again. I _dare_ you."

"Fíli." This had apparently gotten Thorin's attention, and he put a hand on his nephew's arm. "Don't. Now is not the time."

_Oh, so it's not the time NOW._ Fíli's grip on his knives tightened. The gates grated loudly open, and the rest of the Company trickled out onto the causeway. Balin and Dwalin each carried a heavy sack. Bofur helped Glóin with several hunting axes, and behind them came Dori, looking somewhat displeased, but also carrying a traveling pack. Ori bore two packs, one of which she handed to Fíli, which forced him to put his knives away again.

"Where to?" growled Dwalin.

"I'm not leaving," replied Thorin shortly, his fists tightening so suddenly that blood wept from his knuckles in fat drops. "Not without Billa."

"Yes you are." The voice of the Lady Dís so startled Thorin that he actually relaxed slightly. Fíli turned a stunned look on his mother.

"Mam? What are you-?"

But the stern dwarrowdam was as inscrutable, as stone-faced now as she had been in the king's hall during the coronation ceremony. She didn't even glance at him, which tore at her son's heart.

She dropped two bulging sacks at Thorin's feet. Traveling provisions. "Leave, Brother. There is nothing for you here. Go to Laketown, at least. Swear to me that you'll take my son to Laketown."

"Laketown?" Thorin seemed utterly confounded. "Sister... you - you're staying here? With _Dain_? Why? What have I done to make even you turn against me?"

The betrayal in his face and voice was such that Fíli turned away, suddenly ashamed of his own mother. How could she? She'd been loyal to her brother time out of mind. Was she angry about how he'd handled Kíli and Tauriel? Was she angry about Thorin's choice of mate, too? It made no sense.

"Swear it, Brother," she insisted, her expression as grim as a warg with the last scrap of a kill in its jaws.

"You can't stay. Dís. Please."

"Swear it."

Thorin seemed to deflate, his strength ebbing as Fíli had never seen before. He nodded heavily, and Dís promptly turned away.

"Go, Brother. Laketown waits for you."

Balin touched Thorin's shoulder as the gates clanged shut. "You still have seven loyal, Thorin. And we won't leave our burglar behind."

Fíli glanced around and frowned. "Where's Bombur? And Óin?"

"Bombur's leg isn't healed enough." Bofur's tone was a little sour, but he didn't seem angry with the fat dwarf. Dwalin snorted, but said nothing as he adjusted his grip on his crutch. His leg hadn't yet healed around the metal peg that Bofur had made to replace his foot.

"My brother's too old for this," growled Glóin, seeming sad. "He said he'd keep an eye on things, and send word if there's a change."

And so, with heavy hearts, the much-reduced Company of Thorin Oakenshield turned their faces away from Erebor and towards the ruins of Dale, looking more like a snow-covered rock formation than a city amid the white-streaked plain below. The rebuilding process was to begin shortly, overseen by Bard, but the spring had been a fickle one, the weather turning deceptively warm before issuing a cold front as bitter as any they'd had all winter. Five minutes had not gone by before the group had all their cloaks on and hoods up, though the wind seemed determined to sweep the latter off again, blowing icy gusts into their eyes.

"Do you have any desire to go through Dale, Thorin?" Balin's question was spoken through chattering teeth, and Fíli pitied the old dwarf. He was hale as ever, but should not have had to journey in such conditions at his age.

Thorin shook his head. They'd not be sheltering in the ruins. Billa was in a dungeon, and Fíli knew his uncle wouldn't rest until he'd done everything he could to get her out of there. That meant seeking aid in Laketown, and if Thorin had plans beyond that, Fíli did not know.

The trek was long and hard, and it seemed unlikely (given the current weather) that it would take them any less than five or six days to reach Laketown. Fíli recalled, as though from another life, his frantic dash across the heath, in which he'd covered most of the distance between the Mountain and the Lake in a little over two days. At the time, though, he'd been driven by desperation and fear, had hardly rested, and traveled unburdened at nothing less than a jog until exhaustion had conquered him. There had also been no snow or ice on the ground or in the air.

When they stopped at last for the night, and Glóin lit a somewhat pathetic fire in the lee of a rocky outcropping, they finally opened the packs Dís had given them. Food indeed, and good travel rations. Bombur's work, if the smell was to be trusted. When he had found the time to make these loaves and dried meats and fruits was beyond Fíli's reckoning. More confusing, though, were items at the bottom of the first bag, some of which bore Billa's knots and distinctive care in wrapping. More dried provisions, spices and nuts.

"Thorin, you don't think they suspected-?" But Fíli didn't finish his question before it was answered.

"Lady Dís and I arranged for these provisions to be made and set aside," explained Balin quietly. "It was meant to be in preparation for a journey to Rivendell, to see your brother."

"But what's this?" Bofur pulled a sealed envelope from the top of the second pack. Fíli glanced at him, and felt the usual shock of seeing the gnarled scar across his forehead. The wound should have been fatal, but it seemed that he, like his brother before him, was unusually hardy.

"It's from Dís!" As soon as Bofur had announced this revelation, Thorin came to life, snatching the letter from his hands and reading it hungrily.

Fíli could hardly contain himself. What had she said? Why did his uncle look so relieved? Thorin handed the letter to him, and he read eagerly.

_Dearest Brother, _

_You are in grave danger, as is your One. Rest assured that I shall engineer her escape with all speed, and send her to you in Laketown. _

_Deception is necessary, I'm afraid. Dain must believe he can trust me. Else, how will you reclaim our home? _

_Take care of Fíli and Ori. See them properly married, and quickly. I'll not have another grandchild born out of wedlock. And Elvish marriages don't count. _

_Know that I am yet loyal to you, my king, and know also that any debt I owe the halfling is paid in full. After she is free, she must earn my favor on her own merit. _

_Stay safe, and may you return swiftly. _

_Your sister, _

_Dís_

Fíli worked hard to hide the heat creeping into his cheeks, though he figured his face was already fairly cold-reddened. For the moment, all thoughts of what had happened - Billa's arrest, Dain's usurpation - flew from his mind.

All that had taken place, and his mother's sense of propriety was still intact. Elvish weddings? Grandchildren?

Ori was staring at him expectantly, curious amidst her worrying. "What'd she say? Is everything... alright?"

"She's... she said she'd help Billa escape," he answered after a moment, folding the letter and putting it in his pocket. Ori didn't need to know about his mother's worries. They wouldn't. They hadn't. Fíli shivered. Not that he hadn't thought about it. Ori was looking very relieved, as was Thorin. With Dís on their side, things felt much more stable. They could handle this.

Thorin's relief, though, seemed to be kept in temperance. It was clear his fears were somewhat eased, but not completely allayed.

Fíli tried to get him to eat, but he wouldn't. He sat, bundled in his cloak against the hillside, and said nothing. As the young dwarf finally drifted off to sleep, Ori warm and soft against his side, he could still see the sputtering firelight gleaming in his uncle's eyes as he sat unmoving, his gaze fixed on the Mountain they'd left behind.

* * *

><p>The morning came with a dusting of fresh snow, but it had melted by midday, and traveling was far easier with the sun on their faces and the wind soundly asleep. Still, the Company was reserved, and most avoided speaking in anything above the lowest of tones out of respect for Thorin, who did not speak at all unless directly addressed, and then only with the utmost brevity.<p>

Fíli could well imagine what he was feeling. He'd felt it himself, or something very like it, when he'd run like a madman from Erebor to Laketown. Catapulting down a road, guided by a plume of black smoke and the terror of knowing Ori was beneath it... sometimes he returned to that moment in sleep, and it never grew any easier. The helpless horror was still very fresh in his mind.

Fíli cast a glance at Ori, and felt the knot of anxiety loosen a little in his chest. She was safe. She was beside him and walking on her own two feet and as healthy as ever. Healthy enough that his mother was afraid he was going to do something stupid.

_Like my brother did._

His cheeks warmed again, and he worked hard to take his mind off of that subject before Ori noticed and asked him what he was thinking about. The rest of the journey to Laketown was made in near silence, and the mood was somber. Fíli felt a sort of guilty pleasure, traveling with his uncle again. He enjoyed traveling more than he would have liked to admit, considering his duties as Thorin's heir. He would need to stay in the Mountain - as soon as they won it back. Again.

* * *

><p>Laketown was clean and bright, the wood had a new, scrubbed look that made it seem almost worthwhile for the old buildings to have burned down. Several people noted their entrance and in fairly short order, Bard and his son Bain were striding down one of the broad walkways to meet them.<p>

"Hail, Mountain King!" Bard's voice was almost as grim as Thorin's expression. "You're always welcome here, Thorin." Perhaps it was just good politics, but Bard had never been one for false pretences.

"For that, we are grateful." Thorin took a step closer, surveying the buildings beyond Bard and his son, reasonably impressed. "It seems your representatives at the Coronation arrived here before us, though I suppose our appearance and lack of escort are telling enough as to what has taken place in the Mountain."

"So it's true, Da?" Bain frowned confusedly up at his father. "He's really not king anymore?"

"Bain, a king is not a king because he rules a kingdom. He is a king because he takes responsibility for what is his." This grave lesson was witnessed and even approved of by the dwarves. Balin especially seemed touched by Bard's words.

"Friends, please come, warm yourselves. The weather has not been kind to you." Bard gestured for Thorin to follow him, his eyes sweeping over the group. "Some of your number are missing?"

Fíli spared his uncle the explanation, stepping forward to answer. "We still expect one or two from the Mountain within the next few days." He hoped Bard wouldn't question it, and the taciturn bowman didn't disappoint him. With a nod, Bard turned to lead them to a new guest hall, which had been erected for this purpose.

"You have done well here," Thorin said, gesturing to the buildings around them as they went along.

Bard nodded. "The rebuilding process was easier than it had seemed at first. Less houses to be built, and the layout was planned and considered by skilled architects. Some of the larger timbers were able to be salvaged, as well as most of the stone, and the piers. We also had many hands willing to help us... men from the south, and further east. Some have decided to stay on, at least for awhile. There are good opportunities here for business and trade."

The guest hall was centrally located, and when they had reached the courtyard, Bard turned to catch the dwarf's gaze.

"The men I sent to witness your coronation in my stead... they said you would not agree to the oath set forth by your cousin, and that is why Dain now wears the crown. Is that true?"

Fíli glanced swiftly at his uncle, and saw the hard lines around his eyes and mouth deepen slightly. The reminder that he, not Dain, had been ultimately responsible for the usurper's success, was as a sharp pebble in his boot, a thorn in his glove. Fíli wished he could have said something to ease his uncle's burden of guilt, but it was just as much his fault as Thorin's. He, too, had refused the oath.

"It is true," said Thorin shortly.

"How did they get here before us?" Bofur's question distracted Bard enough that the man looked away from Thorin, allowing him a moment to compose himself.

"They were mounted," he explained. "The horses were purchased from the herd left by the Great Bear. Well-trained beasts, but a little wild."

The guest rooms were sparsely furnished, but solid and clean, equipped with bunks, blankets, and little else. The commons had a fireplace and a long table, much like the previous version. Fíli remembered well that night he and Ori had sat on the hearth ledge and... well. He fought back a grin. He'd made a complete fool of himself.

"I will send someone to lay a fire," said Bard presently, "and you may take your ease until the meal is ready. We've constructed a viewing deck on the upper level," he indicated a stairway leading off the commons, "so visiting dignitaries and guests might have a better look at the town. It's beautiful up there. At night, the streetlamps and stars gleam upon the water in such a way that..." He trailed off, eyes deepening mournfully in the dim light. "Tilda would have said it was _magical_."

A soft shiver passed through the warm body pressed against his side, and Fíli glanced down into Ori's face. She was pale, and her eyes were dark with guilt and grief. It couldn't have been more obvious that she still felt responsible for the death of Bard's youngest child, though there wasn't anything she could have possibly done. The blond wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to himself. Bard shook his head as though to clear it, continuing without seeming to notice the somber mood that had settled even more deeply over his guests.

"I shall see a fire laid and food brought to you. Please, make yourselves comfortable and take your ease."

Fíli waited until Bard had gone, then sat on the hearth ledge with a groan. His feet and legs were sore, and he wondered if he was getting a bit out of shape. Without Kee there to insist on his training, he tended to sit around more than usual. His brother's absence, as always, was keenly felt.

Ori settled onto the ledge beside him, leaning against him with a gentle sigh. Fíli put an arm around her, nuzzling her soft hair. "Tired, love?" he whispered close to her ear.

He felt her shiver again, though this time he liked to think it wasn't because she felt guilty. A rosy tint touched her cheeks, and Fíli couldn't help but smile.

"Y-yeah. Just tired. Seems like... well, it's been a long time, hasn't it? Since we were traveling, I mean." Ori's quiet observation was a powerful reminder.

"I guess it has been. Almost five months, I think. Somewhere thereabouts, anyway." On the one hand, it felt like an eternity. On the other hand, it seemed hardly a blink since their dance at the farewell feast, here in Laketown.

Dori had seated himself at a chair by the table, and sat looking at them pensively. Or _through_ them. Fíli couldn't tell. He still felt a bit awkward being openly affectionate with Ori while her brother was present, but then, he pitied the fastidious dwarf. On the quest, he, Nori, and Ori had been thick as thieves. Without either of them, Dori had to have felt out of place. And lonely.

Seeming to have just noticed he'd been caught staring, Dori turned to look at the group sorting through what belongings they'd brought. In their haste to leave, it seemed some of them hadn't been able to pack more than the barest of essentials. A change of clothes or two, and (particularly in Glóin's case) a few pouches of coins or other personal valuables.

The ginger dwarf forlornly hefted his coin purse, shaking his head. "That won't be enough to get us much in the way of supplies, I fear. We might have to stay on and offer our services here until we've enough to get on with. It's a powerful long trek with no beasts of burden."

Bofur shrugged. "Not to worry. One way or another, we'll get where we're trying to go. I could do with a working holiday in Laketown."

"I hope there's ample work in... textiles." Dori's tone was doubtful. Work there might be, but his talent would surely be wasted on Laketown's fisherfolk.

"Oh, aye," Bofur agreed, winking, "they'll put ya at mendin' nets, right enough. And maybe, if ya get lucky, sailcloth."

"Very funny." Dori sighed unhappily, picking at a loose thread on his quilted tunic. He propped his chin on his hands, muttering to himself. "Just when we were getting settled in to our new lives... why did this have to happen?"

Fíli winced. Perhaps it was a sensitive topic, and he was overreacting, but Dori's question had struck a nerve. As though there were someone to blame for their misfortune. Bofur had heard, and so had Dwalin, but the others seemed distracted with their own tasks.

"Yer free te go back," Dwalin pointed out, perhaps with more hostility than necessary. "Yer not the one who refused the oath, are ye?" It wasn't really a question. Dori frowned.

"I didn't say I wouldn't follow Thorin," he retorted primly, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. "It was a rhetorical question. Not that I'd expect you to know what that means."

Fíli reluctantly released Ori and stood. "Backbiting won't solve anything. If you can't find a way to make yourselves useful, I'll assign you tasks." The authority felt strange, like armor many sizes too big. Fíli wasn't sure he wanted to feel its weight. But Thorin had disappeared up to the viewing deck, and Balin was engaged in a serious discussion with Glóin about funds.

Neither dwarf questioned or protested Fíli's words, but he thought he could sense resentment in the way they settled back into their seats.

Fíli felt a gentle hand at his back. "Maybe you should go sit with your uncle for a while. I think... he needs you." Ori's words eased some of the tension from his body, and he nodded slowly.

"He'll probably resent my encroaching on his privacy, but I think you're right."

The blond proceeded up the stairs, glancing back as a young lad bearing an armload of wood entered the commons.

"Leave it with us," Bofur said. "We'll have that fire goin' in a jiffy."

The deck above was spacious and sturdy, smelling strongly of fresh varnish; a sharp, forest-y smell, not unlike pitch. Fíli spotted Thorin standing at the railing on the far side, looking out over the houses and watery expanse, his gaze fixed upon the mist-shrouded Mountain in the distance.

The young dwarf moved to stand beside him, resting his hands on the smooth wood of the railing. "Mam will see she's kept safe, Uncle. A more formidable force than Dís, daughter of Thrain, the world has not seen." It was spoken partially in jest, of course, but there was a certain truth to it.

Fíli saw Thorin's head dip slightly in acknowledgment of the statement, but his gaze remained fixed on the Mountain. The blond tried to imagine what it would be like if Ori were the one trapped in the Mountain, accused of treason, locked in a dungeon. He shuddered. It had been bad enough to think she might have been injured or killed in Smaug's attack on Laketown. To imagine that she might, even now, be waiting for the ax to fall, was enough to inspire the same sort of frantic protectiveness he'd felt when he knew his brother and uncle were engaged in a battle against an uncountable orc army and he wasn't there to defend them.

"The hardest part," whispered Thorin, so quietly that the words were nearly lost in the wind, "is knowing there's nothing I can do. It's Thranduil's dungeons all over again. It's watching her walk into the dragon's den and knowing she might not come back."

Fíli hadn't honestly expected that sort of confidence from his uncle, but there was a gleam of pride in him now. It was as though something had changed between them, and he wasn't just a dwarrow anymore. Not someone to be protected and sheltered, but someone to be trusted, to be confided in.

"I wish... I almost wish I'd taken the oath. I mean, not to take the throne," he added quickly, "but so Dain's plan would've been thwarted. Once he was gone - I'd have sent him back to the Iron Hills after the Coronation - I could have entrusted the crown to its rightful owner and none of this would've happened. I feel..."

He stared down at the icy water, scoffing a little at his own sense of shame. He knew what his uncle would say, and yet kept on. It seemed they both had a need to confide in someone. "I feel as though this is somehow my fault. The way I reacted. I didn't exactly protest... not as much as I might have. Do you think... it would have made a difference?"

There was a beat of silence, filled only with the mournful hissing of the wind. On the one hand, it was comforting to know that his uncle was taking his words seriously. On the other, he wished it didn't take so long for him to offer assurances.

Slowly, Thorin shook his dark head. "I've played it over in my mind a hundred times. That oath... he and his 'nobles' would have demanded immediate action. Against Billa and I, at least, if not against your brother." They shared a shudder, and turned their eyes to the Mountain.

"I hope Kee is okay."

"They're all in Mahal's hands now." Thorin's voice was quietly grim, and Fíli knew he meant Billa and Tauriel, too. Waiting had never been a pleasant activity. This would be no exception.

"Pray the first strike will land true. The metal is certainly hot enough."


End file.
